


Trouble at Hardwick Hall

by orderlychaos



Series: C/C Detective AU [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Established Relationship, Intrigue, M/M, Murder, Mystery, agatha christie style, background pairings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Before long, they were driving up the long driveway of Stark’s country estate.  The manor house itself was as grand as Clint had expected.  Even from the car, he could see that the sprawling building had at least two wings and several of what could only be described as turrets.  “Stark never does things by halves, does he?” he said dryly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No, sir, he does not,” Happy answered from the front of the car.</em>
</p><p>When Phil Coulson and his associate, Clint Barton, are invited to Hardwick Hall, all they expect is a pleasant weekend in the country.  Yet after witnessing a mysterious accident befall Tony Stark, they begin to realise all is not what it seems.  Someone seems to be trying to kill Stark, and it's up to Phil and Clint to find out who before tragedy strikes.</p><p>Except nothing is ever that easy.  When a shocking murder is discovered, Detective Inspector Sitwell is called in to help investigate.  With the help of Agent Bobbi Morse, they must find the truth amongst the hidden secrets to stop the TROUBLE AT HARDWICK HALL.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Summons from Stark

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, for starters, sorry to everyone who has been waiting for this. It's taken me a while to write, but it's here now!
> 
> Also, there is also a background pairing in this fic that I couldn't put in the notes, because it's actually part of the mystery.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

_Apartment 401, Regent’s Court, London, September 13th, 1934_

Phil Coulson, the famous detective, paused in the doorway to his bedroom.  As his eyes traced over the figure sprawled across his bed, Phil’s lips curved up into a small smile.  Morning sunlight crept through the curtains, painting the muscles of Clint Barton’s back in golden light.  Naked but for a sheet, Clint had his face pressed into the pillow, one of his strong arms curled underneath.  A lock of dark blond hair tumbled over his forehead, making Clint seem almost like a fallen angel.  Despite everything he should be doing, Phil wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed and join him.

“I feel like you’re about to interrogate me,” Clint said softly, proving he hadn’t been quite as asleep as Phil had thought.

“Is that a confession that you’ve been getting up to trouble again?” Phil replied, his smile growing as he watched Clint’s lips curve in amusement.

Clint blinked open his eyes and watched as Phil walked over to the bed.  As had become his habit over the last three weeks, Phil carried a small tray with a silver pot of coffee to share and the morning’s post.  He set it carefully down on the bedside table as Clint pushed himself up, the sheet pooling even lower on his hips.  “I think you know _exactly_ what I’ve been getting up to recently, Detective,” he said, smirking.

Phil’s gaze followed the sheet, and he blushed when Clint caught him looking.  Huffing, Phil sat down in the space Clint had left him on the bed and poured the coffee.  He passed one of the cups to Clint, who accepted it gratefully.  Before Phil could turn back to pick up his own, Clint’s free hand curved around Phil’s neck and pulled him in for a lingering kiss.  Phil leaned into it, resting a hand on Clint’s chest over his heart.  When Clint finally pulled back, Phil sucked in a deep breath.  He reminded himself he didn’t have the luxury of ignoring the entire day to tumble Clint back into the sheets.  From his smirk, Clint knew exactly what Phil was thinking and wouldn’t resist in the slightest.  Phil promised himself -- again -- that he would arrange a trip to the Continent soon.  He and Clint could hide themselves away in a little cottage and forget about the world for a few weeks.  But for now, Phil clung to the remains of his professionalism.  “Are you going to get up at all this morning?” he asked Clint, reaching for his coffee cup.

“If I must,” Clint said with an exaggerated sigh, his eyes laughing.  “Although, I’d much rather tempt you back to bed.”

“I’m sure you would,” Phil agreed, “but some of us have work to do.”

Clint smiled.  “Yes, I know,” he said.  “I’m the one that has to slave away over a hot kettle to keep your tea supply fresh.”

Phil huffed out a laugh, before pressing close to steal another, brief kiss.  “I do appreciate it, you know,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Clint replied softly, a crooked smile curving his lips.  Then he gestured towards the tray with his cup.  “Is there anything interesting in the post today?”

Humming in reply, Phil picked up a dark blue envelope and passed it to Clint.  “Stark has sent us a letter,” he said.  He’d already read it while he’d waited for the coffee to brew.

Clint arched an eyebrow and slipped the letter out of the envelope.  Phil waited patiently as he read, smiling slightly when Clint’s face morphed into a scowl.  “I see Stark is being even more cryptic than usual,” Clint muttered, looking up.  “I assume from this that Stark wants to _hire_ us?”

“It appears so,” Phil agreed.

“Why am I suddenly envisioning scenes of chaos?” Clint quipped.

Phil smiled as he sipped his coffee.  “I imagine because Stark is very good at creating chaos,” he replied dryly.  “Just like a certain scoundrel I know.”

Over the rim of his coffee cup, Clint flashed him a smirk.  “Do you want to take the case?” he asked, his expression sobering.

“If nothing else, he can definitely afford to pay us well,” Phil replied mildly.  “What about you?  Do _you_ want to take the case?”

Clint considered it for a moment.  “I doubt Stark would ask unless it was important,” he said.

Phil nodded.  Then he let out an exaggerated sigh that made Clint smile.  “It looks like we’re off to the country then,” he said.

~*~

_Chesterfield Market Place railway station, Derbyshire, September 14th, 1934_

Clint squinted a little in the late afternoon sunlight as he and Phil left the railway station.  Behind him, he could hear the hiss of the train getting ready to depart.  For a moment, Clint felt the urge to turn around and head back to London.  This was hardly the first time he’d ever been in the English countryside, but it still set an itch under his skin.  Rolling green hills spread out in front of him, the village of Chesterfield a little further in the distance.  The amount of fresh air and sunshine was almost sickening.  “You know, I’ve never understood why people periodically retire to the country,” he said.  “I’d had enough of fields before I left Iowa.”

Beside him, Phil laughed softly.  “Yes, but where else would you ride horses and trap all your friends in a drafty house in the name of entertainment?” he replied.

If they hadn’t been in public, Clint would have kissed that playful smile right off Phil’s face.  As it was, a man in a dark chauffeur’s uniform had already spotted them.  Sobering, Clint turned to face the man as he walked towards them.  “Mr Coulson and Mr Barton?” the man asked.

“That’s us,” Clint agreed and watched the chauffeur hide his own smile.

“My name is Happy Hogan.  I’m Mr Stark’s chauffeur,” the man introduced.  “Mr Stark sent me to take you both up to the house, sir.”

Arching an eyebrow, Clint shared a look with Phil as they followed Happy.  A few yards away, a Bentley 8 Litre was waiting at the curb and Clint felt his eyebrows rise.  As Happy seamlessly transferred their luggage into the motorcar, Clint couldn’t help but run his eyes appreciatively down its sleek lines.  He’d never been especially interested in motorcars -- he left that particular passion to Natasha -- but he had raced enough to know an impressive one when he saw it.  “Maybe if you ask nicely, Stark will let you drive it later,” Phil said quietly in his ear.  The warm brush of Phil’s breath on his neck distracted him from the motorcar for a moment.

Clint blinked out of his daze in time to catch Phil’s smirk as he slid into the backseat.  Once again, he cursed their public setting and the rules of propriety he had to obey.  The last three months had been some of the happiest of Clint’s life.  He would have been content to stay in Phil’s small apartment forever, because there at least, he could try to tempt Phil back into bed in the middle of the afternoon.  Phil had proved to be immensely temptable.  Unfortunately, Phil was also a detective to his bones, and Clint had accepted that.  And, with any luck, Stark’s country house would have a lot of dark, shadowy corners.  They might have to play to the expectations of society in the daylight, but Clint was not a scoundrel for nothing.  He was already planning his attempts to take advantage of a certain detective.

Shaking off his thoughts, Clint slid into the car beside Phil.  Despite the room in the backseat, Clint made sure to press his thigh against Phil’s, if only to feel Phil’s reassuring warmth.  His lips quirking into a small smile, Phil pressed back.

The drive to Hardwick Hall was surprisingly short.  Before long, they were driving up the long driveway of Stark’s country estate.  The manor house itself was as grand as Clint had expected.  Even from the car, he could see that the sprawling building had at least two wings and several of what could only be described as _turrets_.  “Stark never does things by halves, does he?” he said dryly.

“No, sir, he does not,” Happy answered from the front of the car.

By the time the motorcar pulled up to the large front door, two men were already walking down the front steps.  It wasn’t hard to recognise Anthony Stark, even in a wrinkled shirt and no jacket.  From the impeccable suit of the tall blond man behind Stark, Clint guessed he had to be Stark’s butler.  Phil hummed thoughtfully beside Clint when he too caught sight of Stark.  “Something’s happened,” Phil said in a low voice.  Clint nodded in agreement.

Stark didn’t wait for Happy to come around and open the door of the motorcar, but instead opened it himself.  “Detective Coulson,” he greeted brightly, but his eyes were a little wild.  “Barton!  Thanks for coming.”

“Mr Stark,” Phil returned the greeting calmly after he and Clint had gotten out of the motorcar.  “What’s happened?”

Clint noticed with interest that Stark seemed to almost deflate at Phil’s words.  “It’s a long story.  I’ll have Pepper explain, I swear, but let’s just say I have surprise guests this weekend,” Stark said.  “Just, please, if anyone asks, you’re here for the house party.”

“Of course,” Phil agreed.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Stark said in a low voice as the front door opened again and a third man joined them.  Clint didn’t need the sudden tension in Stark’s shoulders to know he was one of the unwanted guests.

The man wore a tailored suit, but even so, he had a distinctly unpleasant air.  His reddish brown hair was slicked back from his face, emphasising his pinched features.  Something about the bearing of his shoulders had Clint thinking he was more used to wearing a military uniform than a suit.  The man’s cold eyes flickered briefly over Clint and Phil, before he turned to Stark, dismissing Clint and Phil entirely.  “Stark, the General wants to see you,” the man said.

Stark ignored him.  “Coulson, Barton, this is Captain Emil Blonsky,” he introduced.

“Here for the party, too?” Clint asked with a charming, if feigned, smile.

Blonsky sent Clint a grimace that he guessed was supposed to be a smile.  Ignoring Blonsky’s clear reluctance, Clint walked over and offered his hand.  “Clint Barton,” he introduced.

With a glare, Blonsky turned away from Clint’s outstretched hand without shaking it.  “ __ _Now_ , Stark,” he said, before he walked back into the house.

“Well, isn’t he _charming_ ,” Clint drawled, turning back to face Phil and Stark.

Phil didn’t even try to hide his amusement.  Even so, Clint noted the way his words had seemed to lift a weight of Stark’s shoulders.  “I’d better go and deal with that before the General gets really impatient,” Stark said.  This time, he sounded more like his usual self.  He gestured to the butler waiting patiently off to the side.  “Jarvis will show you to your rooms.”

As Stark hurried off, the butler stepped forward.  “If you would follow me, sirs?” he said.

“Come on,” Phil said.  He stepped up beside Clint, his hand gently pressing against Clint’s lower back for a moment.  “Let’s go see if you can make any more new friends.”

“You’re hilarious,” Clint shot back as he followed.

~*~

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 14th, 1934_

The inside of Hardwick Hall was just as grand as the outside.  Phil took in the dark wood and impressive staircases as his eyes adjusted.  As expected of a manor house, oil paintings hung on the walls and a large chandelier dangled from the ceiling.  Jarvis headed for the stairs, Happy trailing behind carrying the luggage.  Before Phil and Clint could follow, a cheerful voice distracted them.

“Detective Coulson!”

Phil turned to see Pepper Potts walking towards them.  She looked just as elegant as ever, a warm smile on her face.  Her strawberry blonde hair was pinned back from her face, and she looked sleekly elegant in a grey skirt and jacket.  Phil couldn’t help but smile back at her.  “Miss Potts,” he replied, surprised when she pulled him into a brief hug.  “You remember Clint Barton?”

“Of course,” Miss Potts said, greeting Clint with a brief hug as well.  “Mr Barton.”

“Please,” Clint said with one of his charming smiles.  “I always insist that beautiful women should call me Clint.”

Miss Potts laughed and blushed faintly, before curling her arm around Phil’s.  “I’ll walk with you to your rooms,” she said.

They all followed Jarvis and Happy up the stairs.  “What exactly is going on, Miss Potts?” Phil asked, and even with Clint a few steps behind, he didn’t doubt Clint would hear his soft question.

“Please, under the circumstances, you should call me Pepper,” she said.  Her blue eyes were warm, but her body was undeniably tense.  She paused, her expression uncharacteristically grim.  “Perhaps it would be best if we discussed this in your rooms.”

Phil nodded, glancing towards Jarvis and Happy.  He wondered if it was the staff Pepper worried about overhearing them.  Pepper caught his gaze and shook her head.  “Jarvis has been with us since Tony was young.  And Happy has been around for almost as long,” she said quietly.  “It is not them I don’t trust.  This weekend, I fear the walls have ears.”

Wordlessly, Phil arched an eyebrow.  He remained silent until Jarvis had shown both him and Clint to their neighbouring rooms.  “I’ve taken the liberty of ensuring both Mr Coulson and Mr Barton are well away from General Ross and his companions,” Jarvis said.

Phil’s room was large and richly decorated in a way that suggested Pepper’s subtle hand.  The walls were cream, and the furniture was all dark wood.  The windows were large enough to let in the afternoon light, and showed a lovely view of the extensive manor grounds.  There was a large fireplace at one end of the room, with two comfortable looking leather chairs placed on the rug in front of it.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Pepper replied as Happy and Jarvis left.

She sat down one of the armchairs by the fireplace, twisting her fingers slightly in her lap.  Phil settled in the second chair, Clint perching on the arm beside him.  “So what exactly is going on?” Phil asked.

Pepper looked grim again for a moment, before she sighed.  “It’s a rather long and complicated story, but I’ll explain as best as I can,” she said.  “I’m not sure if you’ve seen Tony yet, but some rather unexpected guests arrived this morning.  So far, they’ve managed to turn everything upside down.”

Phil nodded.  “Yes, we did see Mr Stark briefly,” he said.  “He mentioned these guests weren’t exactly… invited?”

Shooting him a glance, Pepper smiled wryly.  “Knowing Tony, he didn’t use those words, but essentially, yes,” she said.  “To put it simply, Stark Industries has a contract with the War Office and the British Army for technological development.  Most of it was set by Tony’s father before the War, but we still honour what we can.  Occasionally, the Army sends along someone to see what Stark Industries is up to and…”

“This is where things get complicated?” Phil finished when Pepper trailed off.

“Yes,” she agreed.  “To say the least.”

“Sounds like we’re in for quite the weekend,” Clint said dryly.

“I am sorry about that,” Pepper said.  “You’ll probably meet everyone at dinner, but I feel like I should warn you that it’s a rather… eclectic group.  Tony is deep in his research at the moment, which is why we’re at Hardwick Hall.  Tony only ever really uses it when he needs his large-scale workshop.  Bruce, uh, Dr Banner is here as well, helping him with it.”

Phil nodded.  “I remember Dr Banner from the last time we met,” he said softly.

Pepper nodded before she cleared her throat.  “Another old school friend of Tony’s is here too to help them.  His name is Aldrich Killian,” she continued.  Her warm smile faded into something far more distant at the mention of Killian, and Phil made a note of her reaction.  “Aldrich brought his aide with him and he’s staying with us as well.  His name is Eric Savin.  And then there’s Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, another old school friend of Tony’s.  He’s an officer in the RAF.”

“And the unexpected guests?” Clint asked when Pepper paused for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, Pepper glanced at both of them.  “General Thaddeus Ross from the British Army and his daughter Betty.  And Ross’ aide, Emil Blonsky, who I believe is a Captain of the Royal Marines,” she said.  “The General is here to check on the progress of Tony’s latest project, under the conditions of the contract with the War Office.”

Clint glanced over, and the look on his face suggested he was both irritated and intrigued by the situation.  Phil couldn’t disagree.  As always, Tony Stark seemed to attract complications by merely existing.

Smiling wryly, Pepper rose gracefully to her feet, Phil and Clint rising politely with her.  “I should let you both settle in,” she said.  “Besides, I fear by now Tony is probably looking for me.”

“Then, please, do not let us keep you,” Phil said with a warm smile.  “Thank you for telling us what you have.”

Pepper smiled back as she made her farewells.  Phil stared at the door after she left, lost in his thoughts.  A moment later, he felt Clint walk up next to him.  “Is it just me,” Clint said quietly, “or is there a lot more going on here than Stark sent for us to figure out?”

“It’s not just you,” Phil said, turning to face him.  “Something is definitely going on.  I suspect dinner will be quite illuminating.”

Clint smirked.  “That’s one way of describing it,” he said dryly.

“You’re a detective now, Clint,” Phil said as he felt his mouth curve into a teasing smile.  “Think of it as a way to hone your investigative skills.”

~*~


	2. Trouble Descends

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 14th, 1934_

Clint frowned at his reflection in the mirror as he attempted to fasten his bow tie.  The blasted things were one of the reasons Clint hated dressing for dinner.  In the past, Natasha had been his inevitable saviour, but unfortunately, this time, Clint was alone.  With a sigh, he gave up and decided to just head next door and have Phil fix the mess of his tie.  He grabbed his jacket as he left, trying to resist tugging at his collar.  He should have simply gotten ready in Phil’s room in the first place, only Phil had said no.  Probably because a half-dressed Phil was more temptation than Clint could resist.  Arriving at dinner late and dishevelled would hardly keep the their relationship a secret.

As Clint slipped out of his room towards Phil’s, something caught the edge of his gaze.  He frowned.  When he glanced down the corridor towards the staircase, nothing appeared to be there.  Even so, Clint couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling in his stomach as he headed for Phil’s room.  Knocking briefly, he entered to find Phil straightening his cuffs in the mirror.

“Clint,” Phil  greeted warmly.  His smile faded as he arched an eyebrow.  “Is something wrong?”

With a wry smile, Clint gestured to the undone tie hanging around his neck.  “Apparently, I still haven’t mastered the art of dressing myself,” he said.

Looking amused, Phil turned away from the mirror and walked over to Clint.  “I hesitate to think how got away with past assignations,” he teased.

“I’m a scoundrel, Phil,” Clint quipped back.  Smirking, he tried to hide the shiver that went down his spine at Phil standing so close.  “We rarely try to hide the evidence of our indiscretions.  That’s what makes us scoundrels.”

Phil chuckled as he reached out to fuss with Clint’s tie.  Clint had to focus on a point somewhere over Phil’s right shoulder as Phil’s fingers brushed against his jaw.  With Phil this close, Clint had to bite back the urge to lean in for a kiss.  A lot of things about Phil tended to prompt that response.  “Well,” Phil said softly.  “We shall have to make you a properly dressed scoundrel, at least.”

Their quiet moment was suddenly broken by a hoarse shout from somewhere just outside the room.  Phil and Clint shared a look, before they both heard a loud and very ominous thud.  Almost immediately, Clint turned and ran out of the room, Phil right on his heels.  He raced for the stairs, noticing Dr Banner running from the opposite direction.  Judging by Banner’s half-dressed state, he too had been interrupted while he was dressing for dinner.  Banner’s bedroom must have been just down the corridor.

Clint reached the stairs first and it was only his sharp gaze that saved them.  A shaft of moonlight coming in through the nearby window illuminated the thin piece of string just in time.  It was strung across the top of the stairs at ankle height.  Stopping abruptly, Clint caught Phil with a hand on his chest.  Clint was willing to bet the earlier thump they’d heard was from someone tumbling down the stairs.  Thankfully, Dr Banner also managed to stop before he collided with Phil and Clint.  “Clint…” Phil began, a trace of irritation in his eyes, but Clint just nodded to the string.

Phil’s eyebrows went up when he spotted it.

Below them, they all heard a low, pained groan and the sound of rushing feet.  “Tony!” Pepper yelled.

“I… I should go down there and help,” Dr Banner said quietly, his face looking pale.

“Be careful,” Phil warned with a nod towards the string.

Nodding back, Banner carefully and somewhat awkwardly stepped over the thread.  Once he’d hurried down the stairs and disappeared, Clint glanced at Phil.  Then he carefully crouched down to examine the string.  It was dark in colour, almost blending into the carpet beneath.  The ends of the string had been fastened tightly enough to trip anyone attempting to walk down the stairs.  “You were right about there being something going on,” Clint said, looking up at Phil.

Phil nodded grimly.  “We should take it down before whoever put it there returns to do so themselves,” he said.  “Do you have one of your knives?”

Reaching underneath his waistcoat, Clint produced one of the throwing knives he always carried.  He smirked up at Phil as he held it up to show the other man.  Phil’s lips twitched in reply.  Carefully, Clint cut the string and held it out to Phil, who wrapped it up in his handkerchief and slipped it into his pocket.

Hiding the knife back under his waistcoat, Clint stood.  Phil nodded towards the stairs, and Clint followed as Phil headed down to the commotion below.  When Clint reached the bottom, he found two men gently helping Stark to his feet.  Both Pepper and Banner hovered nearby, clearly worried.  Stark was already complaining, despite his pale face and the trickle of blood at his temple.  Clint hoped he hadn’t been seriously injured by his fall.  “Pepper… Pep!  I’m okay!  You don’t need to…”  Stark glared as the two men steered him towards the large library.  He seemed to ignore that fact one of the men was holding him steady.

“Tony!  You just _fell down the stairs_ ,” Pepper replied.  “You’re letting Bruce check you over and you’re not going to complain about it.”

By now, the other houseguests had appeared, drawn out by Stark’s shout and the resulting chaos.  They were all in various states of evening dress, and Clint made a point to study them.  As he watched, a tall and stern-looking silver-haired man frowned at Stark.  His black tie was well-tailored, but not the most fashionable cut, and his moustache was well-groomed.  The man turned on his heel, impatiently gesturing for Captain Blonsky to follow.  Clint assumed this was General Thaddeus Ross, the man he’d been warned about.  Despite the elegant appearance, there was a hard, unforgiving expression in Ross’ eyes.  Blonsky paused for a moment, before he followed Ross, the expression on his face equally hard and uncaring.

The rest of the gathered guests moved to follow Stark and the others into the sitting room.  Clint was suddenly aware that his tie was still mostly undone and his jacket was missing.  Normally, he wouldn’t care about his dishevelled appearance, but Clint was Phil’s associate now.  His lack of polite dress didn’t just reflect on him.  He glanced at the stairs, wondering if he had time to run back to his room and make his appearance a little more respectable.  Phil, who’d waited rather than following the rest of the guests, smiled faintly.  The expression in Phil’s eyes suggested he knew exactly what Clint was thinking.  Reaching over, Phil he began fixing Clint’s tie again.

“I assume we’re not mentioning the string?” Clint asked quietly.  It was as much to clarify things as it was to distract himself from Phil’s nearness.

“No,” Phil said.  “I was hoping to keep that detail to ourselves for a while.”

Clint watched him for a moment.  He could almost see Phil’s amazing mind sorting through possibilities.  “You think this has something to do with what Stark asked us down here to investigate,” he said.

Phil shrugged slightly.  “I’m not sure,” he said, “but I can’t rule out the possibility.”

With a sigh, Clint nodded.  It made sense.  “Shouldn’t we tell Stark?”

“I was hoping we could speak to him privately after dinner,” Phil said.  “Until then, Dr Banner is aware of what happened and I’ll try to mention it to Pepper as well.”

Clint nodded again.  Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he gestured in the direction of his room upstairs.  “I should…” he said.

Phil smiled and Clint felt Phil’s hands smooth down his chest over his waistcoat.  The touch was warm and not quite as soothing as Clint suspected Phil had intended.  It was only then that Clint realised how close he and Phil were standing.  Once again, Clint was struck by the urge to kiss Phil, but if the walls had as many eyes and ears as Pepper suspected, he didn’t dare.  “Go,” Phil said softly.

“Okay,” Clint agreed, stepping away from the hands that had settled on his hips.

“Don’t worry,” Phil said, his eyes turning teasing for a moment.  “If anything else interesting happens while you’re gone, I’ll tell you all about it.”

~*~

Stepping into the small sitting room, Phil found Stark slumped on the sofa.  He had a drink in his hand and a long suffering expression on his face as Dr Banner checked him for signs of concussion.  Stark looked far less pale now, and Phil felt a swell of relief.  Making his way over to Pepper, Phil reached out a hand to rest comfortingly on her arm.  Pepper gave him a grateful smile and curled her arm around Phil’s so she could lean on him briefly.  “How is he?” Phil asked softly.

“He’ll have a headache, but it could have been so much worse,” Pepper said.  Phil squeezed her hand a little in reassurance.

Now that the worry over Stark had faded, Phil took a moment to admire Pepper’s evening attire.  The elegant sea foam green dress looked gorgeous on her.  The colour was complemented expertly by her silver and topaz jewellery.  For a brief moment, Phil almost regretted the fact that he was not interested in women.  “I feel I should also add that you look beautiful this evening, Miss Potts,” Phil said.  He keep his voice quiet so as to not be overheard.  Pepper shot him an amused glanced even as she blushed faintly.

“I keep telling you, Pepper, I’m _fine_ ,” Stark insisted loudly from the sofa.  He sounded more than a little disgruntled as he waved Banner’s hands away from his head.  Banner gave a resigned sigh, and sent Stark a frustrated glare.  “I’ve gotten worse headaches from working in the workshop.”

“That’s not actually comforting, Tony,” one of the guests said dryly.  The dark-skinned man was standing near the fireplace, leaning against the mantle.  He looked both elegant and commanding in his black tie. Frowning, the man glared at Stark with a familiar sort of exasperation.  The look in his eyes was as fondly reproachful as Pepper’s had been.

“Phil,” Pepper said with a small, warm smile.  “Allow me to introduce you to Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes of the RAF.  Rhodey, this is Phillip Coulson.”

“Ah, the detective,” Rhodes said with a polite smile as he offered his hand for Phil to shake.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Lieutenant Colonel,” Phil greeted.

Pepper turned to the second sofa that was at right angles from the one Stark and Banner were sitting on.  A brown-eyed man sat in the middle, one arm casually slung along the back of it.  He watched Phil with sharp eyes, a smug sort of smirk on his face.  Behind his shoulder stood a rather fierce-looking man with very short hair.  The second man was rough-edged enough to suggest he wasn’t quite a gentleman.  It was nothing overt, but he was watching Phil just as closely as his companion.  “This is Mr Aldrich Killian,” Pepper continued the introductions, gesturing towards the seated gentleman.  “And his associate Mr Eric Savin.”

At the other corner of the sofa, a pretty brunette with wide blue eyes was sipping a drink.  She wore a lovely pale silver dress, with a beautiful sapphire pendant on a long silver chain.  Her dark hair elaborately fell over one shoulder, almost to her lap.  She gave Phil a polite smile when she saw him watching, but Phil noted the way her gaze kept moving back to Banner.  “And Miss Elizabeth Ross,” Pepper said finally.  “Betty is the daughter of General Ross, who you might have seen earlier.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Phil said with a polite smile.

“So what do you do for a living, Mr Coulson?” Killian asked in the following silence, his sharp gaze never leaving Phil.  “Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes called you some sort of detective?”

Phil studied Killian for a moment.  From the twist to the man’s lips, Phil suspected Killian already knew the answer to his question.  Phil saw no reason not to give him the information he clearly wanted.  But he did make a mental note that Aldrich Killian liked to play games with people.  “I’m a private detective, Mr Killian,” Phil said blandly.

“And what brings you to Hardwick Hall?” Killian pressed.  “A case?”

“Nothing so exciting,” Phil said.  “I made Mr Stark’s acquaintance not long ago.  He extended an invitation to visit if I ever wished to escape the bustle of London.  I just never expected the house to be quite so busy.”

Killian nodded and gave a conniving smile in reply.  Phil was under no illusions.  Killian had not believed the reason for his visit and would be keeping a close eye on Phil.  Or rather, Phil suspected Eric Savin would be doing most of the dirty work.  Phil would have to warn Clint to be careful, both with their investigations and otherwise.

“Can I offer you something to drink, Phil?” Pepper said brightly, trying to break the tension that had followed Killian’s questions.

“No, thank you,” Phil said.  “I’m fine.”

Thankfully, before the tense silence descended again, Clint swept into the sitting room.  He now wore his tailored suit jacket, which emphasised his broad shoulders.  Somehow, he was also accompanied by a pretty young woman in a stunning deep purple dress.  The young woman looked no more than about sixteen, but the look in her blue eyes was far older.  She looked very pleased to be making a dramatic entrance on the arm of a handsome man.  Phil noted with amusement that there was no sign of doe-eyed admiration in her expression.  Clint could be exceedingly charming when he wanted to, but it seemed as if his new companion may be immune.

“Kate,” Pepper greeted warmly.  She let go of Phil’s arm to walk over and draw the young woman into a hug.

“Hello, Pepper,” she replied with her own grin.

Pulling back, Pepper smoothly made the introductions, before gesturing to the new arrivals.  “This is Miss Katherine Bishop,” she said.  “She’s the daughter of our neighbour.  And, of course, Mr Clint Barton, Mr Coulson’s associate.”

“Associate?” Miss Bishop echoed, turning an interested and challenging look on Clint.

Clint grinned cheekily back, but he did flick his gaze to Phil’s briefly before he spoke.  “I’m a detective,” he said.

“Really?” Miss Bishop said flatly and Phil had to hide a smirk at the way Clint bristled at her scepticism.

“Yes,” Clint said firmly, his eyes narrowed at her.  “ _Really_.”

Phil had to admit that he was a little disconcerted by the familiarity already between Clint and Miss Bishop.  He wasn’t sure what had happened, but Clint must have recognised something in Miss Bishop and lowered his guard.  Even when Clint was flirting with people, there was a hard edge to his manner.  To Phil, it seemed very conspicuous in its absence when he spoke to Miss Bishop.  Phil was curious, but not worried.  Clint was acting much like he did with Natasha, even though it appeared Miss Bishop was more prone to needling him.

He was brought out of his thoughts by another woman entering the room with a polite cough.  She appeared to be reasonably young, but she wasn’t dressed in evening finery.  Instead, she wore simple, practical clothes that suggested she worked for a living.  Her light red hair was pulled back in a simple bun.  “Dinner is ready,” she announced.

“Excellent,” Stark said.  He bounded to his feet despite protests from Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes and Dr Banner.  “I’m starving.”

“That’s Mrs Davis,” Pepper said as she took Phil’s arm again to walk with him to dinner.  “Our new housekeeper.  She’s only been with us a few weeks.”

“You suspect she is more than she seems?” Phil asked, detecting the note of suspicion in Pepper’s voice.

“At this point,” Pepper said dryly, “it would not surprise me.”

~*~

Dinner was as tense and awkward as Clint had expected it to be.  The only bright part so far was that Clint had been seated next to Miss Bishop.  Phil was further down the table, next to Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes and Pepper.  It was no doubt an attempt to help Pepper engage General Ross and Captain Blonsky in polite conversation.  Clint did not envy Phil’s position.  Stark, Banner and Aldrich Killian were all seated at the other end of the table.  They appeared to be holding some sort of impromptu scientific summit.  Unfortunately, that left Clint trying not to make awkward eye contact with either Savin or Miss Ross.

“Horrible, isn’t it?” Miss Bishop said quietly as she leaned over.

“It’s definitely not the most pleasant meal I’ve ever had,” Clint replied dryly.

Miss Bishop bit her lip to hold back a laugh as her eyes danced.  “It’s not usually so bad,” she said.  “Stark can actually be quite funny when he’s not drawing mathematical equations on napkins.”

Clint glanced towards Stark and felt his eyebrows.  Stark was definitely scribbling something, Banner leaning almost completely over his shoulder.  “You dine here regularly then?” Clint asked, turning back to Miss Bishop and reaching for his wine glass.

Miss Bishop shrugged a little, something flat and guarded entering her gaze.  “When I’m in Derbyshire, I do,” she said.  “Sometimes I catch up with Pepper in London, too.  Although, mostly, I’m just shipped off to school.”

For a moment, Clint felt slightly awkward.  He had very little idea of what it was like to be constantly at boarding school.  When he was younger, his guardians had tried to get both him and Natasha a formal education.  Eventually, one of Natasha’s aunts had given in and hired them both a tutor.  Clint did, however, have experience with being unwanted, so he attempted to change the subject.  “So what you’re saying is that if anyone would know the good gossip, it would be you?” he said.

With a smile, Miss Bishop ducked her head.  “What did you want to know?” she asked conspiratorially.

“Well,” Clint said, leaning closer with a smirk.  “What’s scandalous?”

Miss Bishop snorted.  “This is hardly the crowd for scandalous,” she said.  “Most of them are too old and boring.  Aside from Stark anyway, but he’s hardly done anything lately.”

Clint looked up and glanced at the various guests around the table.  He could see the tensions humming under the surface, hiding secrets and danger.  Miss Bishop’s scoffing at most of the dinner guests being too old and boring for secrets just made Clint feel old and jaded.  For a moment, he missed Natasha so much it _hurt_.  Natasha would have seen exactly what he had.  She probably would have known just how to undercover the causes, too.  “I guarantee you, Miss Bishop.  Everyone at this table is hiding more secrets than you think,” he said.

“Including you?” Miss Bishop said, her eyes sharper than Clint had expected.

Clint just smirked and drank his wine, letting the conversation turn to other things.  Dinner broke up not long after that.  General Ross and Captain Blonsky disappeared abruptly after the last course, Miss Ross trailing apologetically after them.  As Pepper distracted Miss Bishop, Clint caught Phil’s eye, who nodded towards Stark.  Making his excuses, Clint rose and followed Phil and Stark towards Stark’s study.

The room was warm and surprisingly lived-in for Stark.  Clint had always imagined Stark spending far more time in his laboratory than anywhere else.  As soon as the door was shut behind them, Stark wandered over to the sideboard, offering them both a whiskey.  Clint accepted, never one to turn down a decent drink.  He blinked when Phil nodded too.

“I assume you wished to talk to us about the reason you invited Clint and myself to visit?” Phil asked mildly when Stark simply sat on the sofa opposite Clint and him, staring at his glass.

Clint watched the hunched line of Stark’s shoulders and the way he wouldn’t quite meet Phil’s gaze.  Whatever this was about, it was something very important to Stark.  “I don’t know how much you know about me, Detective, but I went to university at Oxford.  It was a good time in my life.  It’s where I met Rhodey and Bruce,” Stark began.  “I go back every now and then.  Guest lecturing in engineering, mostly, because no one knows as much as I do.”  Stark’s attempt at a smirk fell flat.  “It was on one of those trips that I met Maya.  She was brilliant, fun… and I won’t lie.  We had an affair.  I couldn’t help it.  She helped me design and experiment with technology in a way no one else ever had.”

“Does Maya have a surname?” Clint asked when Stark trailed off.

“Hansen,” Stark replied.  “Dr Maya Hansen.”

“What happened to her?” Phil said gently when Stark lapsed into silence again.

When Stark finally looked up, sorrow was evident in his dark eyes.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “She disappeared two weeks ago.”

“You don’t think this was planned,” Clint said, because he could follow where this was going.

“I don’t know,” Stark said.  He took a drink of whiskey.  “Maya sent me a letter.  I only received it a few days ago.  She sent her research notes with it, and now I don’t know what to think.”

Getting up, Stark moved to his desk and picked up an envelope.  Walking back, he handed it to Phil.  Phil read the letter in silence for a moment, before he handed it to Clint.  Clint didn’t pretend to understand the scientific discussion, but he could read between the lines.  Maya was scared.  Clint didn’t know of what, but she was definitely scared.

“Did you want us to look into this matter for you?” Phil asked.  “Try to find Dr Hansen?  And maybe find out why someone would want to harm her?”

Stark blinked for a moment.  “How the hell do you know someone wanted to harm her from reading one letter?” he said.

“She was scared,” Clint said quietly, handing the letter back to Stark.  “If she’s as intelligent enough to keep up with you, Stark, then she definitely had a serious reason.”

“It would explain the recent events as well,” Phil added.

“What recent events?” Stark said and frowned.

Phil took a sip of whiskey.  “Your fall down the stairs for a start,” he said.  “I’m also willing to bet your fall isn’t the first accident to happen to you recently, either.”

Stark sat down heavily on the sofa opposite.  “No,” he said, his eyes a little wide.  “It wasn’t.  I was almost run over the other morning, and I had trouble with my car brakes on the way up from London.  Do you think the same person who… who might have killed Maya is now trying to kill me?”

“It’s a possibly, yes,” Phil said frankly, taking another sip of whiskey.

“How did you know my fall down the stairs wasn’t an accident?” Stark said after a moment of silent thought, his gaze narrowed as he regarded Phil.

“There was a string stretched across the top of the stairs,” Clint told him.

Stark was stunned into silence again for a few moments.  “I’ll make some enquiries about your friend as soon as I can, Mr Stark,” Phil told him.  “But I would prefer it if Clint and I could stay for the rest of the weekend as arranged.”

“Of course,” Stark said hastily.  “My invitation was genuine, you know.”

“Thank you, Mr Stark,” Phil said politely.

Stark rolled his eyes at the formality, before they widened as he was obviously struck by a thought.  “You think someone staying here this weekend is involved!” he said.

“Someone had to lay that string,” Clint said dryly.

Phil shot him a look that suggested Clint wasn’t helping.  “We will find out who is behind the accidents, Mr Stark.  And who wished to harm Dr Hansen,” he said.  “You have my word.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all, Detective,” Stark replied.

~*~


	3. A Favour From a Friend

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 14th, 1934_

Later that evening, there was a quick knock on the door to Phil’s bedroom.  Phil turned just in time to see Clint slipping in, already missing his jacket and tie.  Clint glanced up with a smile, still in the middle of rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.  This late in the evening, a few locks of hair had come loose and curled over his forehead.  He looked entirely too distracting for Phil’s peace of mind, but even so, Phil was unwilling to turn him away.  “I was wondering if you were going to join me,” Phil told him dryly.

“Why, Detective, you sound so resigned to your fate,” Clint teased, his eyes lit with amusement.  “Am I really such a burden to you?”

“A burden?  No,” Phil replied, smiling despite himself.  “A temptation?  Most definitely.”

“Believe it or not, my intention tonight was not to tempt.  I wanted to discuss our case,” Clint said.  He walked over to sprawl across one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.  “Of course, if you would prefer me to be a temptation, I can change my plans.”

Phil chuckled.  He eyed Clint’s smirk and moved to join Clint, taking a seat in the other chair.  The firelight had turned Clint’s hair golden, and it danced over his skin, softening his features.  If this was any other situation, Phil would have kissed him.  Maybe even pulled Clint down to the rug so he could map out more than just his face in the firelight.  Judging by the heat in Clint’s blue eyes, he wouldn’t object.  “You’re always a temptation, Clint,” Phil said, his voice surprisingly rough.  “Whether you intend to be or not.”  Clearing his throat, Phil glanced at the flames, trying to gather his thoughts.  “We will have to be careful of Eric Savin, I fear,” he added, turning back to Clint.  “Killian will send him to watch us.”

With Savin reporting back to Killian, he and Clint would have to be more circumspect, both with their behaviour and their case.  Killian hadn’t believed Phil’s denial about an investigation, that much was clear.

Clint hummed thoughtfully.  “I don’t like Killian,” he said.  “There’s something about that man that sets me on edge.”

“You’re not the only one,” Phil agreed.

“What about the rest of our tangled mess?” Clint asked quietly, turning his own gaze from the fire to look back at Phil.

“It’s definitely tangled,” Phil said dryly, before his expression turned appraising.  “What did you see?”

Clint’s mouth quirked into a smile.  “Well to start with, the old school friends are nowhere near as friendly as they appear.  Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes doesn’t like Killian.  As far as I can tell, the feeling is mutual.  I wouldn’t be surprised if it had something to do with the radiant Pepper Potts.”  Clint’s smile grew into a smirk.  “Dr Banner appears to be tied up in knots over something.  Judging by the amount of times Miss Ross keeps glancing at him, I’m betting it has something to do with her.”

“What about General Ross and Captain Blonsky?” Phil asked.  Phil wouldn’t trust either of those men further than he could throw them.

Clint frowned a little.  “Those two I couldn’t get a good read on,” he said.  “But they both strike me as callous and ruthless men.”

Phil nodded.  “They definitely are,” he said.  “They want whatever it is that Stark is building for them.  They seem almost desperate enough that they’d do almost anything for it.”

Humming thoughtfully again, Clint looked at him with those sharp eyes.  “That sort of rules them out as suspects, doesn’t it?” he said.  “It’s in their best interests to keep Stark alive and working in his laboratory.”

“It is,” Phil agreed and they both lapsed into thoughtful silence.

“So what are we going to do about investigating Dr Hansen’s disappearance?” Clint said finally.  He smirked when Phil looked at him, before his expression sobered.  “Or should I call it murder?”

“Murder?” Phil echoed.

“That’s what you think, isn’t it?” Clint said, that sharp-eyed gaze daring Phil to disagree with what he’d seen.  It still surprised Phil how much Clint saw in him.  Particularly since Phil had spent what felt like a lifetime creating a mask to hide his thoughts from the world.  “You think she’s disappeared because someone killed her.  You said  as much to Stark.”

“We have no proof of murder,” Phil protested, but even to his own ears it felt hollow.

“You should trust your instincts more, Phil,” Clint told him quietly.  “They’re rarely wrong.”

Phil sent him a bitter smile.  Phil prided himself on his logic and deduction, because those skills had never let him down.  His instincts _had,_ and it had almost cost a little girl her life.  He’d also lost his position at Scotland Yard, but that was nothing compared to the fear in that little girl’s eyes.  A fear Phil could have prevented if he hadn’t been so fixed on what he believed was right.  That case had shaken him more than he’d told anyone, and Phil still didn’t quite believe in himself anymore.

“Hey.”  Clint’s soft voice and familiar hand on Phil’s shoulder broke Phil out of his thoughts.  “I lost you there for a minute.”

When Phil blinked, he found Clint perched carefully on the arm of his chair.  Letting out a shaky breath, Phil stared up into that concerned blue gaze.  He could brush off this moment, force the conversation back to the current case.  Clint would drop it, and let Phil keep his secrets.  Phil just didn’t want to.  He _wanted_ to tell Clint, which was something that had never happened with anyone else.  Phil hadn’t even wanted to discuss it with the detectives who’d been there.  Including Jasper.

“Clint…”  Phil cleared his throat and forced a more even tone as he continued.  “How much do you know about my last case for Scotland Yard?”

Clint settled less tentatively on the arm of the chair.  “Not much,” he said.

Phil reached out to grab Clint’s hand, needing the touch to help gather his courage to tell the story.  Clint squeezed back, not seeming to mind the intimacy of the gesture.  “Lord Devon’s daughter was kidnapped,” Phil said.  “Along with her nanny, from right outside the front of their house.”

“I remember reading about that in the newspaper,” Clint said.  “You were assigned to the case?”

Phil nodded.  “So was Jasper… Detective Inspector Sitwell.  We’d worked together in the past.  Between the two of us, we had the highest rate of solving cases in the Yard,” he said.  He gave Clint a wry smile.  “Some of the other detectives didn’t like that.”

“They didn’t like the fact that you and Detective Inspector Sitwell solved so many cases?  Or was it the fact you were assigned to that one?” Clint prompted when Phil fell into silence again.

“Both, really,” Phil said.  “Although, it would probably be simpler and more accurate to say they just didn’t like me.”

Clint gently squeezed his hand again, his thumb stroking over Phil’s knuckles.  Phil smiled up at him, before he glanced away to gather his thoughts.  “I suspected Lord Devon’s brother, Edward Courtney, from the beginning of the case.  It made little logical sense, because Edward was still Lord Devon’s heir.  Under the rules of the title, Lord Devon’s daughter could not inherit,” he said.  “My instincts told me that Edward Courtney was responsible.  Nothing could convince me any differently, and I didn’t want to wait for proof.”

“That wasn’t a bad choice, Phil,” Clint said softly.  “He might have been the brother of an Earl, but some people are just born bad.”

Phil looked up at Clint’s face, trying to banish the image of Lucy Courtney’s wide, scared eyes from his mind.  “Oh, he was.  He tried to frame the housekeeper and her husband for the crime, but I knew it was him,” Phil said.  He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and hide, yet he couldn’t tear himself away from Clint’s understanding gaze.  “But I didn’t have enough proof.  My supervisors didn’t like my wild accusations and had me removed from the case.  If I’d waited, followed the evidence like I should have, maybe we could have found Lucy sooner.”  Finally giving in, Phil closed his eyes and let out another shaky sigh.  “I know a case like that should prove I can trust my instincts.  I just…”

“Don’t quite trust yourself anymore,” Clint whispered.

Phil swallowed heavily, because it was _true_.  Of course Clint could see that.  Clint managed to see beneath the mask Phil always wore, right to the heart of everything.  Even when Phil didn’t want him to.  Right now that was both a comfort and a relief that Phil didn’t have to find the words.  The slide of Clint’s fingers over his cheek made Phil open his eyes and the soft, fond smile on Clint’s face made his breath catch.  “I think I have a solution to that,” Clint said quietly.  “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Phil said firmly, because he did.  “Of course.”

Clint’s smile got a little wider.  “Then tell me what your instincts are telling you,” he said.  “And trust me when I say you can believe them.  Just until you don’t need me to do that anymore.”

That should have seemed like a daunting prospect.  Only, it was Clint and Phil trusted him with far more than that already.  “And what if I never trust myself enough?” he asked before he could stop himself.

He saw Clint swallow as his expression turned serious.  “Then I guess you’re stuck with me,” Clint said quietly.  Phil hoped he wasn’t imagining the invisible _forever_ he heard trailing after those words.

Clint’s hand was still curled around Phil’s and Phil gripped it tight.  There were words he didn’t have the courage to say, but he half-hoped that Clint’s sharp gaze could read them on his face anyway.  Clint’s free hand came up to cup Phil’s cheek as he twisted somewhat awkwardly on the arm of Phil’s chair.  Leaning down, Clint gave him a soft, mostly chaste kiss before he pulled away and stood up.  “I think you need sleep,” he said, tugging Phil to his feet as well.  “We have a mystery to unravel in the morning.”

Phil gave him a faint smile, reaching out before Clint could go far.  “Thank you,” he said gratefully.

Instead of the flippant answer Phil had expected, Clint ducked his head and sent Phil a warm, bashful smile.  “What else are faithful tea boys for?” he said.  The words were warm like a shared joke and with a smile, Phil realised it _was_.

Clint winked at him, before pulling him in for another brief, but far less chaste kiss.  “Goodnight, Phil,” he said as he stepped back.

“Goodnight,” Phil echoed.  As Clint walked away, he tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head urging him to make Clint stay.

~*~

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 15th, 1934_

Thankfully, breakfast was far less tense than dinner had been.  General Ross and Captain Blonsky were notably absent, which was most likely the cause.  Clint didn’t really mind.  It meant he could actually enjoy what he ate.  All the same, he did note Phil’s small frown with amusement.  If Clint wished he could lean across the table and kiss away that frown, that was no one’s business but his.  Just like no one needed to know that Clint needed coffee and a cigarette far more than usual.  He hadn’t slept much, too unsettled by the lingering cold of sleeping alone when he’d gotten so used to Phil beside him.  “So,” Clint asked, attempting to shake off his brooding thoughts.  “What’s your plan for today?”

“I was thinking about making a trip to Chesterfield.   I want to contact an old friend away from the ears that may be listening in here,” Phil said.

“You’re going to call Fury, aren’t you?” Clint said, feeling a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” Phil agreed mildly.  The mischievous expression in his eyes betrayed his own amusement.  “Can you think of anyone better?”

Clint grinned, because he couldn’t.  “Besides,” Phil continued.  “He owes me a favour.  And he has the resources to look into Dr Hansen’s disappearance.  Particularly if she was working on anything sensitive.”

Clint felt his eyebrows rise.  “Do you think she was?” he asked curiously.

Phil shrugged slightly.  “With Stark’s connections to the Army, it’s possible,” he said.  Phil sipped his coffee, his eyes still amused when he glanced towards Clint.  “And you?” he said.  “What are your plans for the day?”

“You mean you don’t have a list of instructions for me to follow?” Clint teased in reply.

“Would you follow them if I did?” Phil said dryly.

Clint chuckled.  “I was going to keep an eye on Stark’s laboratory,” he said.  “It will help with getting an idea of everyone’s daily movements.  Also, I was hoping it would make it harder for our villain to sabotage anything else.”

Phil nodded.  “It would,” he said.  Then he cocked his head slightly to the side.  “How do you plan on keeping watch?  I assume you don’t intend to hide in the bushes?”

Clint bit back a smile.  “I was going to ask Miss Potts if it was possible to set up a few archery targets on the lawn next to Stark’s lab,” he said.  “It’s been awhile since I had a chance to practice.  I actually wouldn’t mind spending the whole day out there -- if my muscles are up to it.”

“Archery?” Phil echoed, surprised.  “I… I wasn’t sure you still trained anymore.”

Clint smiled sadly.  Phil already knew so much about him that confessing to parts of his past at the circus hadn’t been hard.  Particularly in the dark of the night, with Phil’s strong arms curled around him.  Thankfully, not all the memories were painful.  There would always be a part of Clint that missed travelling across Europe on the old circus trains.  “I was the World’s Greatest Marksman,” he said, his tone wistful.  “And besides, I don’t really have a chance to practice those skills in London.”

“You should,” Phil said, his voice soft, but his tone determined.  “If it’s important to you, we should find a way for you to practice.”

“I can hardly set up an archery range in your apartment,” Clint said.  He shrugged to cover the warmth spreading through his chest at Phil’s words.

“Nevertheless, there has to be a way,” Phil said.

“Thank you,” Clint said quietly after a moment.

Phil smiled.  “I’ll have to attempt to return as soon as I can,” he said.  “I want to witness this impressive skill.”

Clint felt a smirk curving his mouth again.  “Oh, it is impressive, Detective,” he said.  “I _never_ miss.”

A moment later, Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes walked in, breaking the mood.  Clint shifted in his chair, hiding his amusement behind his coffee cup.  Rhodes eyed both Clint and Phil with a faintly amused gaze, before turning to help himself to a his own cup of coffee.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said.

Phil smiled politely, although it was a shade warmer than his normal polite smiles.  “No need to apologise, Lieutenant Colonel,” he replied.

Rhodes grimaced.  “Please, I’d prefer it if you’d just call me Rhodey,” he said.  “Pepper and Tony do.”  He smiled wryly.  “One of the results of knowing Tony Stark since university.”

“Gaining a nickname?” Phil asked mildly.

Rhodes shrugged slightly and nodded.  “Having Tony Stark give you a nickname and refuse to call you anything else,” he replied.

Clint raised an eyebrow as his lips curved into a grin.  “I’m willing to bet there are a lot of perks that make up for it,” he said.

Rhodes grinned back.  “Oh, you have no idea,” he agreed.

Clint laughed. “Looks like we should make a point of working for Stark more often,” he said, turning to Phil.

“So you _are_ here because Tony has asked you to investigate something?” Rhodes asked quietly, his voice suddenly serious.

Wincing, Clint shot Phil an apologetic look.  Pepper had made a point of mentioning how close Rhodes and Stark were.  Clint had just assumed Stark would have told Rhodes of his suspicions.  Underneath the table, Phil briefly squeezed Clint’s knee in reassurance.

“We are,” Phil agreed.  “But we would appreciate it if you kept that information between yourself, Stark and Miss Potts.”

Rhodes nodded.  “Of course,” he replied.  “To be honest, it’s a bit of relief.  You saw the fall Tony had last night.  It’s not the first time he’s had an accident recently, and now, hopefully Pepper and I won’t be the only ones looking out for him.”

“You won’t be,” Clint said quietly.

Phil nodded.  “We’ll do our best to get to the bottom of this.  Of that, you have my word.”

“Thank you,” Rhodes said.

~*~

_Chesterfield, Derbyshire, September 15th, 1934_

Smiling politely at the clerk, Phil picked up the telephone receiver.  The small, local hotel he’d found was clean and handsomely decorated, and thankfully, the clerk had also happily let Phil borrow the telephone when he’d asked.  Turning away, Phil felt anticipation curl in his stomach.  He could only imagine Nick’s response to hearing from Phil only two months after they’d last caught up for dinner.  Nick always did complain Phil never called.  The operator quickly connected them when Phil asked, and he listened to the telephone ring in his ear.  “Fury,” a gruff voice answered on the other end of the line.

Phil was unable to stop the smile that spread across his face.  He promised himself he would not wait until he needed another favour before he called his friend again.  “Hello Nick,” he greeted.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my old friend Phil,” Nick Fury said, his tone warming a little.  “You’re not in trouble with the Triads again, are you?”

Phil rolled his eyes.  “Not that I’m aware of,” he replied.  “They haven’t tried tailing me since the Green Dragon.”

The following silence spoke volumes.  Phil resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  Nick had taught Phil almost everything he knew about losing tails and discreetly spying on people.  It was hard to imagine how Nick -- a six foot three tall, dark-skinned man with an eye-patch -- could disappear so completely into a crowd, but he could.  Phil had seen him vanish like a ghost.  It was a little disheartening to think that Nick had lost faith in Phil’s ability to do the same, Triad or no Triad.  Besides, he’d had Clint watching his back, and Clint’s eyes were as sharp as a hawk.

“So what’s the favour you need to ask me?” Nick said, breaking into Phil’s thoughts.

Phil shook his head slightly.  He wasn’t surprised that Nick had guessed the reason for his telephone call.  “I was hoping you could help me with a little information,” he said.  “I’ve been asked to look into the disappearance of Dr Maya Hansen.”

“By Tony Stark,” Nick said.

Phil raised an eyebrow, but wasn’t really surprised that Nick had known that either.  “Yes, by Tony Stark,” he replied.

“What exactly do you want to know about Dr Hansen?” Nick said.

“I was hoping you could tell me if she was working on anything sensitive at the time of her disappearance,” Phil said.  “And if there’s anything else you might know that could be important.  I’m trying to understand what happened to her.”

“I might be able to help out with that,” Nick replied, and Phil could hear the smirk in his voice.  “I’ll send the information up to you when I have it.  Are you staying at Stark’s country monstrosity?”

“Hardwick Hall, yes,” Phil said with a smile.

“Better you than me, I suppose,” Nick muttered.

This time Phil did roll his eyes.  There was a muffled sound on the other end of the line.  “Sorry, Phil, I need to deal with this,” Nick said a moment later.

They said their goodbyes, and Phil hung up the phone with a nod to the hotel clerk.  Picking up his hat, he was about to head back outside when the sound of a soft scuffle caught his attention.  Turning his head slightly, Phil pretended to be preoccupied by his pocketwatch.  Instead, he glanced up towards the rooms on the first floor of the hotel.  Two men stood at the top of the stairs, having what looked to be a very intense conversation.  Although he was mostly hidden by his companion, Phil recognised Eric Savin.  The second man was rather scruffily dressed.  The sleeves of his creased shirt had been pushed up, and the braces of his pants were visible.  Whatever they were discussing had him looking agitated.  Almost as he wanted to flee, and Savin had grabbed his arm hard enough that Savin’s knuckles were white.

Carefully, Phil crept a little closer, trying to see if he could overhear their conversation.  “…you’ll do it, Jack,” Savin growled, his voice rising enough for Phil to hear.  “You don’t get to say no.”

Glancing to the side, Jack hissed something back.  Then both men retreated further down the corridor.  Phil considered getting the clerk to tell him which room ‘Jack’ was staying in, before he dismissed the idea.  If he wasn’t careful, he’d alert either Jack or Savin to his investigation.  With a frown, Phil decided to leave it be for now.  If Savin was at the hotel for a legitimate purpose, Pepper would probably know the reason.

As he turned to leave, Phil caught another flash of movement as Jack gestured sharply.  Phil’s blood ran cold at the very familiar tattoo on the inside of Jack’s wrist.  So much for assuring Nick the Triad wasn’t involved.  Grimacing, Phil slipped back out onto the street.  He needed to tell Clint what he’d just discovered.

~*~


	4. Archery and Accidents

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 15th, 1934_

After breakfast, it didn’t take Clint long to set up the archery targets.  When he’d asked Pepper about the possibility, she’d just smiled.  Apparently, the house had a whole set of proper targets from when Stark had bought them on a whim for a party.  From Pepper’s expression, Clint decided this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.  Clint had been grateful when she’d offered to send Jarvis to help him set everything up.  Pepper had also seemed relieved when Clint told her of his intention to set up the targets on the lawn next to Stark’s lab.  Pepper was intelligent enough to understand what Clint was attempting.

For this time of year, the day outside was pleasant.  The sun was warm on Clint’s skin, and the breeze mild.  He’d stripped out of his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves.  Normally, using his bow in a suit was not Clint’s preference, but he was in polite company.  He doubted the other guests would appreciate him in such a state of disarray as his usual shooting clothes.  At least, that was one of the rules Natasha had always been drilling into him.  He did, however, have his favourite bow, packed on impulse.  Clint had thought he’d have to sneak away to shoot at trees, but proper targets were infinitely better.

Over the course of the morning, Clint kept an eye on the comings and goings from Stark’s laboratory.  Even so, he lost himself a little in his shooting.  The familiar rhythms of the nock and draw settled Clint in a way he’d definitely missed.  As did the jolt of satisfaction each time his arrow hit its target.  After such a long time without proper practice, Clint muscles were protesting the use, but it was all worth it.  Clint sank into the familiar movements, a tension in his shoulders relaxing as he let the soothing pattern of the draw and release wash over him.

For most of the morning, Captain Blonsky hurried between the house and Stark’s lab.  He mostly ignored Clint.  Although, each time, Blonsky looked increasingly irritated, no doubt carrying missives from General Ross.  Clint did not envy him that task.

When Pepper and Miss Bishop wandered outside an hour later, Clint found himself with an audience.  He was not unfamiliar with the distinct prickling of being watched.  Shooting his last arrow, Clint turned to glance at both women, a mischievous smirk fixed on his face.  He only just resisted the urge to bow gallantly like he would have in the circus.  “Good morning, ladies,” he said.  “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I didn’t know you were an archer,” Miss Bishop replied, her eyes narrowed as shey watched him.

Clint winked at her, making her huff.  “There’s a lot about me you don’t know, Miss Bishop,” he said.

Miss Bishop frowned at that, but Pepper just looked amused.  “It’s a very impressive skill,” she said.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone shoot like that.”

“Well, it keeps me out of trouble when I want it to,” Clint teased back.

Pepper laughed.  “I thought it was a nice day to have tea outside,” she said.  She waved a hand towards where Jarvis and Happy were helping set up a table just on the edge of Clint’s impromptu archery range.  “Would you care to join us, Clint?”

“I’d love to,” Clint replied with a smile.

Joining the woman at the table, Clint smiled politely when Pepper poured him a cup of tea.  “I’m sorry if we interrupted your archery,” she said as she passed Clint the cup.  “It’s just that with Tony, Bruce and Aldrich all in the laboratory this morning, Kate and I find ourselves at a bit of a loose end.”

Clint smiled a little more warmly.  He made a mental note of Killian’s location.  He hadn’t seen the other man either entering or leaving the laboratory all morning.  Truthfully, he hadn’t actually seen Stark or Banner leaving or entering either.  “Then I shall endeavour to provide two such beautiful ladies with a little entertainment,” Clint said with a wink.

Pepper looked amused at his rather outrageous flirting, but Miss Bishop glared at him over her tea cup.  “Don’t think your flirting is going to work on us, Ace,” she said.

“Kate,” Pepper chided gently, an edge of laughter in her voice.

Trying to hide his grin and not looking at Pepper just in case one or both of them burst into laughter, Clint nodded as solemnly as he could.  “I was merely attempting to pay you a compliment, Miss Bishop,” he said.  “Of course, I shall refrain from doing so in the future.”

“Good,” Miss Bishop said with a nod.

Pepper hid a small smile with her tea cup, before smoothly changing the subject.  “I am sorry about General Ross interrupting your visit, Clint,” she said.  “The weekend was intended to be less chaotic.”

“You don’t need to apologise, Pepper,” Clint told her.  “It’s hardly your fault that you had unannounced visitors.  Does General Ross come up to Hardwick Hall often?”

“Not very often, no,” Pepper said.  “There are a few official visits.  Mostly, he visits the London offices of Stark Industries.  Usually without an appointment.  This weekend’s visit, I think, is more to do with Tony’s research.  It’s the first project that has been both of this scale and with clear military applications in a long time.  Tony has been… reluctant to develop weapons and I think the General is a little nervous of that.”

Clint nodded.  He’d seen the headlines in the newspaper.  Stark had ruffled a lot of feathers when he’d announced Stark Industries was moving away from weapons development.  Clint could understand why General Ross and the Army would have been a little worried.  For decades, Stark Industries had been one of their main providers of weapons and equipment.  “So General Ross handles the new technologies the Army adopts?” Clint asked.

Pepper nodded.  “Yes, he does,” she said.  “He’s got quite a reputation for it.”

Clint nodded and sipped his tea.  He still didn’t trust Ross at all, but Clint conceded that Ross probably wasn’t involved in the accidents surrounding Stark.  “And Killian?” he asked.  “Does he also help Stark with the contract for the Army?”

“Actually, Tony’s collaboration with Killian is fairly recent,” Pepper replied.  “He and Tony were friends at Oxford, but Killian had mostly disappeared until about two years ago.  I don’t know the details, I’m afraid.  Whatever research Killian conducted while he was away from society made him a lot of money.”

That was an interesting piece of information.  Clint carefully filed it away to mention to Phil later.  For a moment, they were quiet as they sipped their tea.  Clint was all too aware of Miss Bishop’s narrow-eyed gaze on him the whole time.  “Are you really here for a quiet weekend in the country?” she asked finally.

“You sound awfully suspicious, Miss Bishop,” Clint said with a smile.  “Do you not believe that the lure of fresh air and a chance at practicing my archery was enough to tempt me away from London?”

Miss Bishop scoffed in reply as only a young woman could.  “Well, Derbyshire is hardly an interesting place to be,” she said.

“That,” Clint said with a smirk, “entirely depends on one’s company.”

Huffing, Miss Bishop glared at him again.  Clint would have sworn that Pepper was hiding another smile behind her tea cup.  “Did you know, Clint, that Kate is also a very good shot with a bow?” Pepper said.

“Is that so, Miss Bishop?” Clint said, suddenly interested.  It had been quite a while since Clint had indulged in a little friendly competition.

“Kate,” Miss Bishop said firmly.  “My name is Kate.  And yes, it is.”

“Then perhaps, after lunch, you can show me just how good a shot you are?” Clint said.

“It’s a deal,” Kate shot back, the fierce light of challenge in her eyes.

“If you have no objection, I can see if Rhodey is willing to judge a little impromptu tournament,” Pepper said.  “With Tony in the lab all day, I think he’s getting a little bored.”

Kate nodded.  “We should ask Betty if she wants to watch too,” she said.

“Of course,” Clint agreed with a smile.  It would give him a chance to watch both Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes and Miss Ross.  “What’s a tournament without an audience?”

“An audience won’t stop me from beating you,” Kate told him.  Clint had to grin at the blatant challenge.

“I guess we’ll see after lunch,” he replied.

“I have a feeling if I don’t change the subject soon, you’re both going to descend into insults,” Pepper said dryly.

Clint sent her a faintly offended look.  “I would never insult a lady,” he said.

Kate sent him a questioning look, but it was softened by the amusement lurking in her eyes.  “I thought you were a scoundrel?”

“There are some lines even a scoundrel will not cross,” Clint told her.

Pepper laughed.  “I think we should leave the scoundrel to his archery practice now,” she said.  Clint smoothly rose to his feet as Pepper and Kate stood.

“I need to fetch my bow,” Kate agreed, before her eyes flickered over Clint dismissively.  “It’s not like either the extra practice or his outrageous flirting is going to help him anyway.”

Clint swept into an elaborate bow just because it would annoy Kate.  “I shall away you upon the field of battle, milady,” he said.

~*~

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 15th, 1934_

Phil returned to Hardwick Hall a little before lunch.  He found Clint practicing his archery.  Even with the forewarning at breakfast, Phil was little prepared for the sight.  As expected, Clint had lost his suit jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows.  A guard covered one of his strong forearms, a shooting glove on his other hand.  Phil swallowed, his mouth suddenly a little dry.  Through the shirt, Phil could see Clint’s muscles bunching and shifting as he drew back the bowstring.  For a breath, Clint’s already intense gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing at the target placed at the other end of the lawn.  Clint smoothly released the arrow, and Phil watched it fly.  It hit the target in the exact centre of the bullseye.  Phil couldn’t stop the murmur of astonishment that escaped him.

Clint turned and flashed Phil an impossibly bright smile over his shoulder.  “I told you I don’t miss,” he said.

The smile was almost as breathtaking as Clint’s skill with a bow.  It didn’t hurt that Clint was relaxed in a way he hadn’t been that morning.  Archery had stripped a layer of the ever-present tension from him.  Phil could only stare for far longer than was polite.  By the time Phil gathered his scattered thoughts, Clint had fired three more arrows at his target.  All four arrows were now nestled in the centre of the bullseye so close they touched.  As a shiver went down his spine, Phil resolved to find some way for Clint to practice archery in London.  If Phil was lucky, Clint might even consent to let him watch.

At Phil’s continued silence, Clint lowered his bow and turned to him.  “Phil?” he asked.

“Your skill with a bow is as impressive as you said,” Phil told him.  He blushed when his voice came out hoarser than he’d intended.

Clint flashed him a teasing grin, amusement lighting his blue eyes.  Thankfully, he didn’t call Phil on his reaction.  “You should try to join us this afternoon, then,” Clint said.  “If you’re not too busy detecting.  Miss Bishop and I are having an archery tournament with Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes to judge.”

“I shall definitely have to make time for that,” Phil said with a smile of his own.

Clint’s expression turned impish, before his eyes glanced at something over Phil’s shoulder.  Phil turned to see Jarvis carrying a large tray towards the table that had been set up on the edge of the lawn.  “I thought we could have a little lunch while I told you about what I’ve observed this morning,” Clint said.

“That sounds wonderful,” Phil replied softly, smiling at him.

Phil caught sight of Eric Savin walking towards Stark’s laboratory, and frowned.  He hadn’t expected Savin back at Hardwick Hall so soon.  Savin disappeared inside the lab, and a few moments later, stepped out again.  This time, with Aldrich Killian.  Risking a glance at Clint, Phil noted that Clint didn’t seem surprised by Killian’s presence.  Phil turned back in time to catch Killian watching him, a faint frown pulling down the corners of Killian’s mouth.  Killian gave Phil a somewhat sardonic nod, before he and Savin headed off in the direction of the house.

Shrugging it off, Phil followed Clint to the table as Jarvis placed down the tray.  Phil smiled politely at the butler, and it wasn't long before he and Clint were alone again.  The food Jarvis had brought was simple, but smelt delicious.  Phil took a moment to fill his plate, and when he finally glanced up again, he smiled sheepishly.  Clint rolled his eyes, still patiently holding out a cup of tea.  “Thank you,” Phil said.

“What else are faithful tea boys for?” Clint replied with a smile.

Phil smiled back and took a sip of tea.  “So what have you learnt this morning?” he asked.

“Nothing terribly useful, I’m afraid,” Clint said.  “Stark, Banner and Killian have all been busy in the laboratory.  I haven’t seen any of them leave until just now.  Captain Blonsky has been coming and going fairly regularly.  Probably on Ross’ orders.  And both Pepper and Jarvis have been making the odd trip to the lab as well.”

Humming thoughtfully as he chewed his sandwich, Phil’s eyes drifted over to the laboratory.  “No one could have entered or left any other way?” he said.

“Not unless they climbed out the window,” Clint said.  “What about you?  Did you get through to Fury?”

“I did,” Phil said.  “He’s going to dig up everything he can on Dr Hansen for us.  Although, that’s not all I learnt.”

“Oh?” Clint replied, looking curious as he set down his tea cup.

Phil leaned a little closer, unable to stop his smile at the mischievous glint in Clint’s eyes as he did the same.  “I borrowed the telephone at the hotel in Chesterfield.  While I was there, I saw Eric Savin,” Phil said.

Clint smirked.  “Was he having an illicit meeting with a scandalous lover?” he asked.

Phil blinked.  “You know, I hadn’t actually thought of that.”

Clint sipped his tea, his humour fading.  “Do you have any idea why Savin was there?” he asked.

Letting out a breath, Phil nodded.  “It’s not good news,” he said.  “Savin was definitely meeting someone.  I didn’t catch the full name of who it was, but he was definitely rough around the edges.  Savin called him Jack.”

“And?” Clint prompted when Phil fell silent.

Phil grimaced.  “And this ‘Jack’ had a tattoo on the inside of his wrist.  He’s Ten Rings Triad.”

Clint cursed.  “Well, that makes things complicated,” he said.  “Do you think Killian’s making deals with the Ten Rings?  Or is this just Savin doing things on his own?”

“I don’t know,” Phil said, “but we need to find out.”

Nodding, Clint sent Phil a small smile.  “I’ll keep an eye out for Savin and any strangers,” he said.  “If I see anything, I’ll let you know.”

“I know you will,” Phil agreed, sipping his own tea.

They fell into a companionable quiet after that, each lost in their own thoughts.  Phil was strangely comforted by Clint’s understanding of when Phil needed space.  Not that Clint seemed so different.  Phil hoped that he provided the same sense of understanding for Clint too.

“Did you hear that?” Clint asked suddenly.

Phil blinked away his thoughts.  “Hear what?” he said.

Before Clint could answer, the door to the laboratory burst open.  A great cloud of smoke billowed out, Stark and Banner tumbling through it, coughing.  Phil was immediately on his feet before he’d consciously decided to be, Clint right beside him.  Coughing a little himself as the gas stung his lungs, Phil helped Stark up.  They staggered over to the chairs, Stark immediately sagging into one.  Now that they were in the fresher air, Phil’s lungs seized for a moment, his coughing wracking his whole body.

“Here, drink this,” Clint said from Phil’s elbow, his voice rough.  “Bruce said it should help.”

Gratefully, Phil took the offered cup.  The cool tea soothed his throat and somehow calmed his lungs enough to take a deep breath.  “Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Are you all right?” Banner asked with concern.

When Phil glanced up, Banner was hovering half out of his chair.  Both he and Stark were watching him worriedly.  Beside Phil, Clint was frowning, his hand resting lightly on Phil’s elbow in case he needed to make Phil sit down too.  “I’m fine,” Phil rasped, sipping his tea again.  At Clint’s deeply skeptical look, he smiled.  “Really.”

Clint didn’t look convinced.

Letting out a breath, Phil shrugged slightly.  “I was hit with chlorine gas in the War,” he told Clint quietly.  “I wasn’t nearly as affected as some of the others, but it was enough to weaken my lungs a little.  It’s not usually enough to notice.  I’m not sure the Army doctor took Stark’s laboratory into account.”  He leaned a little more into Clint, because only Banner and Stark were around to see.  Then Phil eyed the two scientists.  “Now, does anyone want to explain just happened?”

“What happened, Detective, is that you were just proved right,” Stark said grimly.  He waved a hand in the direction of his laboratory, his dark eyes boring into Phil’s.  “Someone really is trying to kill me.”

~*~

Clint eyed Stark suspiciously over the rim of his cup.  Jarvis has already brought out another pot of tea, unable to hide his concern for Stark the whole time.  Clint didn’t blame him.  Seeing Stark outside his laboratory during daylight hours was definitely strange.

Stark huffed.  “Coulson, can you get your associate to stop staring at me like that?”

Hiding the beginnings of a smirk, Clint sipped his tea.  Stark really was too easy to mess with.

“Like what, Mr Stark?” Phil asked mildly.  When Clint glanced over, Phil’s face was a mask of polite interest, but amusement was lurking in his eyes.

“Like I’m about to keel over,” Stark grumbled.  “I’m fine.”  Stark rolled his eyes and waved his hand expansively.  “Hydrochloric gas is barely toxic.  I’ve had worse accidents that I’ve caused myself.”

Clint hid another smile as Phil arched an eyebrow.  “That’s not overly reassuring,” Phil said dryly.

Stark glared.

“Tony’s not wrong,” Banner broke in.  “That level of gas wasn’t hazardous, just a little painful.  We’ll both be fine.”  Banner’s smile turned wry.  “He also really has suffered through much worse.”

Stark gasped dramatically.  “Bruce!  You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Banner narrowed his eyes.  “I’m on the side where you tell Pepper and Rhodey what’s going on,” he said firmly.

Glancing away, Stark shrugged.  Clint could see both the tension and the guilt in the gesture.  “You know that will only make Pepper worry,” Stark said.

“About that,” Phil cut in before Stark and Banner could start arguing.  “Do you have any idea how the gas leaked out?  I’m assuming it was not a planned part of whatever you were doing?”

Banner blinked and frowned.  “Hydrochloric gas is easy to form by combining sulfuric acid and sodium chloride.  We were using both in our experiment, but they weren’t supposed to mix.”

Banner shot a glance at Stark, who shrugged.  “If someone opened the wrong stopper they would,” Stark said.  “Easy enough to pass off as someone bumping into the wrong thing.”

“If someone really wanted to hurt Tony, there are other things in the lab that are far more dangerous,” Banner added grimly.

Phil hummed thoughtfully, but otherwise stayed silent.  His blue eyes were narrowed and Clint could practically see the cogs whirring in Phil’s mind.  Clint probably should not find that as attractive as he did.  “I thought you were supposed to be working on some sort of energy technology for the Army?” Clint asked.  “I didn’t think sulfuric acid was particularly useful in energy generation.  Unless you’re trying to create a giant salt battery?”

Stark blinked, his dark gaze suddenly intent on Clint.  “And so he speaks,” Stark said, a hard-edge underneath his words.  He shot Clint an exaggerated leer.  “I was beginning to think Coulson kept you around for other talents than your skill at conversation.”

“What talents Phil keeps me around for are our business,” Clint drawled.  “And don’t think that is going to distract me from my question, Mr Stark.”

Banner ducked his head with a smile.  “You’re right,” he told Clint, blatantly ignoring Stark’s hushing motions.  “We weren’t working on the reactor design.”

Stark huffed.  “Bruce, light of my life, we need to have a talk about giving away all our secrets,” he complained, but Clint didn’t think Stark was really bothered.

Banner’s dark eyes glinted with wicked amusement for a moment.  “I’m hardly giving away _all_ our secrets,” he said.

Stark grinned, but Phil interrupted again before Stark could derail the conversation any further.  “So what _were_ you working on?”

Banner slid his gaze to Stark again, before glancing back at Phil.  “Dr Hansen’s formula,” he answered simply.

Clint blinked and opened his mouth, but Stark huffed and waved his hand before Clint could ask any questions.  “I was going through Maya’s notes last night.  I wanted to see if there were any clues to… what happened to her,” Stark said, his dark eyes intent.  Clint felt his skin prickle a little at the intensity.  Stark glanced cautiously around, his shoulders tensing.  “When I got to Maya’s most recent notes, I noticed two pages had been cut out of her notebook.  Probably with a very sharp knife, because it was made to look like those pages hadn’t been there at all.”  Stark shifted forward, almost knocking over his tea cup.  “Maya’s research was leading up to distilling a working version of her formula.  I think that whoever is behind her disappearance also stole the formula.”

Grimacing, Clint glanced at Phil.  Stark’s theory made a lot of sense, but if he was right, it also made the case far more complicated.  Not to mention the implication of Dr Hansen’s formula in the hands of a dangerous criminal.  “So, what?  You and Dr Banner were trying to recreate it?” Clint asked.  He frowned.  “Are you sure there was a formula in those missing notes?”

“Of course I am,” Stark replied, looking faintly insulted.  “And really, Barton.  We’re never going to find out who wanted to steal the formula if we don’t know what it does.”

Amusement flashed across Phil’s face as Clint rolled his eyes.  “Are you any closer to finding out what the formula is for?” he asked mildly.

Stark scowled.  “No,” he admitted grudgingly.

For a moment, Bruce looked like he wanted to disagree, but he was cut off by a small shake of Phil’s head.  “Perhaps we can finish this conversation later?” he said, nodding over Stark’s shoulder.  “You were the one, Mr Stark, who did not want to involve Miss Potts.”

Clint flicked his eyes up to follow Phil’s gaze.  He spotted Pepper and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes heading towards them.  Pepper was as fetching as usual, dressed in a dark blue skirt and jacket with a white blouse underneath.  Beside her, Rhodes was acting the proper gentleman, Pepper’s hand curled around his elbow.  They were walking very close together, their heads dipped in intimate conversation.  As Clint watched, his lips curled up in amusement.  There was just something about Pepper and Rhodes that reminded Clint of children up to mischief.

“Tony?” Pepper called out in surprise when she spotted Stark.  Her gaze shifted to Banner.  “Bruce?  Did something happen?”

Stark sent Banner a slightly panicked look, and Clint bit back a smile.  Beside him, Phil rose smoothly to his feet.  “Pepper,” he greeted warmly.  “Everything is fine.  Mr Stark was just saying how much he wanted to join us for the archery competition this afternoon.”

“Really?”  Pepper arched an eyebrow as she came to a stop beside the table.  She fixed both Stark and Banner with a pointed look.  On her other side, Rhodes just watched, his eyes dancing with silent laughter.  “Is that so, Tony?” Pepper pressed.  “You’ve suddenly developed an interest in archery?”

“Pepper, wonderful, darling Pepper,” Stark began.

Clint ignored most of Stark’s dramatic explanation as Stark rose to his feet.  “You know, Pepper is going to be very annoyed with you when she find out what really happened,” he murmured to Phil.  Surreptitiously, he pressed close to Phil’s side, taking advantage of everyone’s distraction.

“I am aware,” Phil said dryly.  Clint shivered as Phil’s fingers ghosted over the bare skin of his forearm, before they tangled with his.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Clint replied.  “I’m more interested in what you’re thinking in that brilliant mind of yours, anyway.”

Phil raised an eyebrow, but his cheeks flushed a faint pink.  “It’s nothing serious,” he said.  “I was just wondering at Killian and Savin’s convenient exit just before the gas.”

“You think one of them might be behind the attempts on Stark’s life?” Clint asked.

“It’s possible,” Phil agreed.  “Although, one would assume Killian has the scientific knowledge to recognise the other dangers in Stark’s laboratory.”

Clint frowned.  “Or he wasn’t being as obvious as he could be when he tried to kill Stark,” he countered.

Before Clint could say anything else, Pepper’s voice cut into his thoughts.  “Rhodey and I will set up the targets for the competition now,” she said.  “Could all competitors please return to the house for half an hour?”

“Well, that’s my cue,” Clint said dryly, forcing himself to step back and let go of Phil’s hand.

“I’ll walk you back,” Phil said.  He nodded towards Pepper.  “If that is acceptable with you, Miss Potts?”

“Oh, be off with all of you!” Pepper said, but she was smiling.

Grinning, Clint nudged Phil in the direction of the house.  “Come on, Phil.  Let’s not disappoint the lovely lady.”

“No, indeed,” Phil agreed.

~*~


	5. Questions and Distractions

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 15th, 1934_

The stroll back to the house was pleasant, if lacking in privacy.  Stark and Banner were walking just ahead, deep in some sort of scientific discussion.  Pepper had instructed the scientists to get some food, but Phil had a suspicion they might get distracted.  Phil told himself not to worry.  As usual, Clint was a solid and reassuring presence by his side.  If Phil wanted to reach out so that Clint could curl their fingers together, it was no one’s business but his own.

“I’m almost tempted to change into something more theatrical,” Clint said in a low voice, his eyes dancing.  “It’s the circus performer in me.”

Phil glanced at Clint and smiled softly.  Clint so rarely shared his past.  Slowly, Phil piecing together a picture of the man he’d come to love so much.  From the small boy who’d run away to the circus, to the young man who’d saved the life of a Russian princess.  Each piece of the puzzle just proved to Phil how amazing Clint really was.

At Clint’s teasing glance, Phil’s smile widened.  “Do you even have anything more theatrical than your tuxedo?” he asked.

Clint smirked.  “Why don’t you come up to my room and find out?”

Phil’s pulse leapt.  Following Clint up to his room and ignoring the rest of the world for the afternoon sounded heavenly, but Phil didn’t dare.  Not just because of the archery competition, either.  Both Killian and Savin were already so suspicious of his and Clint’s presence.  “Please,” Clint said quietly, his expression fading into something far more serious.  “Just for a minute.  I doubt our villain is going to attempt to kill Stark again this afternoon.”

Nodding, Phil gave in and started following Clint upstairs.  Both Stark and Banner had already split off in the direction of the kitchens.  Hopefully that meant they’d actually eat.  Reaching the first floor of the house, Phil glanced up and noticed General Ross.  He was standing in the shadows just inside the Red Drawing Room, a handkerchief held to his nose.  Frowning, Phil watched as Ross pulled out a small brown bottle.  Ross’ hand was trembling, and there was a shocking pallor to his skin.  Ross shook a few pills into his hand and chased them down with a swallow of what looked like Stark’s good scotch.

“Do we need to worry about that?” Clint asked softly.

Phil glanced towards him, only to find Clint staring intently at Ross as well.  “I don’t know,” Phil admitted.  The pills could be anything, but Phil’s instincts were telling him they were for more than a headache.  “What did you see?”

“I didn’t catch the name on the bottle, but I don’t think that was aspirin,” Clint replied.  “And I think that handkerchief was stained with blood.”

Blinking, Phil turned back to look at him.  “You could see that from all the way over here?” he asked.

Clint smirked.  “I could,” he said.  His gaze flicked back towards the study.  “Although, maybe we should discuss this somewhere else.  Ross is starting to get suspicious.”

Blushing faintly, Phil nodded.  Standing and staring had been entirely too obvious, and he was better than that.  “So much for being subtle,” he muttered.

Clint pulled Phil into his bedroom, but his shoulders were tense.  The relaxing effect of his archery practice seemed completely gone.  Phil immediately started to worry.  Clint busied himself, carefully draping his suit jacket over a chair.  He wouldn’t look at Phil.  His worry growing, Phil walked over to rest a hand on Clint’s shoulder.  “Clint?”

“I’m fine, Phil,” Clint said as he turned and stepped closer.  “I just wanted you to myself for a minute.”

A tendril of warmth unfurled in Phil’s chest, and he pulled Clint into a hug.  Clint immediately sagged into his arms, pressing as close as he could and burying his face in Phil’s shoulder.  “It’s not what you think,” Clint muttered.

Clint’s arms tightened around Phil’s waist, slipping under his jacket, and Phil shivered.  He could understand Clint’s impulse.  It was never easy conforming to society’s expectations.  With so many people watching them, they had even less privacy than they did in Phil’s apartment.  Sighing, Phil soothed a hand down Clint’s back.  After a minute, Clint lifted his head and smiled wryly.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I think I missed waking up with you this morning more than I expected.”

“You don’t need to apologise, Clint,” Phil replied.  He reached up a hand to slide a thumb along Clint’s cheekbone.  “I missed you, too.”

Clint hummed.  “Do you think I could get away with sneaking in with you tonight?” he asked.

Phil sucked in a breath, closing his eyes.  The temptation of Clint solid warmth curled around him as he slept was almost too much, and he tightened his grip on Clint’s hips.  Phil still wasn’t entirely sure what Clint saw in him, but he was finally starting to believe that Clint _was_ staying.  Despite the hiding they had to do.  It was a heady feeling.

“I can sneak out again at sunrise before anyone wakes up,” Clint whispered.  “I’m a scoundrel.  I’m good at sneaking.”  He pressed a kiss to the hinge of Phil’s jaw.  “Come on, Phil.  What do you say?”

A smile tugged at Phil’s mouth.  “Is this you trying to be seductive?” he teased.

Clint pulled back, his eyebrows raised.  The smirk that curved across his face was decidedly wicked and his eyes were dark.  “If you want to be seduced, Phil, I can seduce you,” he said.  Reaching up, he started to slide Phil’s jacket off his shoulders.  “We do, after all, have half an hour before Pepper will let us outside again.”  Tossing the jacket onto the bed behind him, Clint stretched up to tug at Phil’s tie.  “Whatever shall we do until then, Detective?”

Clint’s hot, intent gaze and those broad, calloused hands had Phil’s resolve melting.  Dragging Clint forward, he leaned in for a kiss.  The solid heat and muscle of Clint’s chest pressed against his, and Phil’s fingers flexed on Clint’s hip.  He tried to bury down the urge to strip Clint of his clothes so that he could touch and taste.  They didn’t have time for Phil to spread Clint out on the still rumpled sheets of his bed.  Clint gave a low groan and surged forwards, deepening the kiss.  When Clint’s clever fingers found the naked skin of his back, Phil’s head swam.  The rough slide of Clint’s shooting glove made him shiver and desire pooled low in his stomach.

Pulling back slightly, Phil sucked in a breath as he started unbuttoning Clint’s waistcoat.  Clint looked impossibly beautiful, a pink flush across his cheeks and his beautiful eyes gone dark.  “I have a few ideas,” Phil said, his voice little more than a gravelly rasp.

Clint chuckled roughly.  “So do I,” he agreed, and tugged Phil back in the direction of the bed.

~*~

A little over half an hour later, Clint finally managed to drag himself back outside.  He’d made sure he was presentable as possible before he’d left his room.  With the exception of his still rolled up sleeves and lack of jacket, anyway.  Or rather, Phil had made sure.  Considering Phil had contributed to the mess, Clint had decided Phil owed him a little help.  Not that Clint was complaining about Phil messing him up in the first place.  Phil had worked the same magic on his own clothes, but even a splash of cold water hadn’t quite hide the faint pink flush on his cheeks.  The colour was entirely too tempting on the normally reserved detective.

Thankfully, Clint had the coming evening to look forward to.  He might have to be careful sneaking around, but it would be worth it to fall asleep in Phil’s strong arms.  Sometimes, Clint wondered if he wasn’t falling too hard and too fast for the detective.  It was barely three months, and already he couldn’t sleep nearly as well without Phil beside him.

When they reached the lawn, the tournament had already been set up as promised.  Four target sat at two different distances, and Jarvis had added another table for spectators.  A fair crowd had gathered, with Miss Ross joining Stark, Banner, Pepper and Rhodes.  Stark and Banner appeared to be deep in discussion again, or perhaps it was still the same one.  A notebook sat between them as Stark scribbled frantically.  Rhodes was watching them with an indulgent smile, while Miss Ross was quietly reading in the sun.  Kate had already arrived, and she was standing next to Pepper, leaning casually on her bow as they chatted.  “Well, it’s about time you turned up,” she called out when she spotted Clint and Phil.

“Are you that eager to lose, Miss Bishop?” Clint replied with a smirk.

Kate narrowed her eyes at him.  In the last half an hour, she’d changed into loose trousers and a matching light purple, short-sleeved sweater.  Her dark hair was swept back from her face and a beret sat atop her tightly pinned curls.  She was an elegant sight.  Clint swept into an elaborate bow, before gesturing to the targets.  “Shall we?” he asked.

Kate sniffed, but nevertheless walked over to take her position.  Phil drifted away to sit down next to Miss Ross, who had put down her book in anticipation.  Even Stark and Banner looked up when Pepper stepped forwards and cleared her throat.  “Today’s competition is friendly, and will be judged by Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes,” Pepper announced.  “Targets have been set at forty and one hundred yards, and each round will consist of nine arrows per target.”  She paused, eyeing both Kate and Clint pointedly.  “There will be no cheating or insults.”

The rules seemed pretty standard to Clint, but he did raise his eyebrows at Pepper’s last words.  “You wound me,” he called out, pressing a hand dramatically over his heart.  “I would never insult a lady!”

“So you would try to cheat then?” Kate shot back before Pepper could say anything.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw Phil hide a smile.  He smirked.  “I have no reason to cheat, Miss Bishop,” he told Kate.

Kate narrowed her eyes.  “We’ll see about that,” she said.

Clint shrugged, gesturing to the targets.  “Ladies first.”

Pepper directed them both to their starting marks.  As she did, Clint spotted Killian and Savin crossing the lawn towards them.  Killian purposefully avoided Rhodes’ nod of greeting, turning his back on the Lieutenant Colonel.  Clint frowned.  It was hardly polite behaviour, particularly between friends that had gone to university together.  Clint wondered if the problems between them stemmed from Pepper, or something else.

As Kate lined up her first shot, Clint kept an unobtrusive eye on the spectators.  Even distracted, Clint could Kate’s form was beautiful.  He suspected that Kate’s father had paid for a coach at some point.  Her stance was far more traditional than Clint’s, but not everyone was circus trained.  Clint was willing to bet he could still shoot arrows more accurately standing on the back of a horse.  Despite her lack of circus training, Kate shot with very little hesitation.  All nine arrows nailed the inner circle of the nearest target, nestled closely together.  Clint raised his eyebrows as the audience burst into applause.  That was impressive.  Clint would be hard pressed to do better.

He gave a low whistle.  “That’s some skill,” he said.

Kate smirked.  “Scared?”

“No,” Clint replied.  “Just very impressed.”

To Clint’s surprise, Kate blushed.  Even so, there was a hard expression in her eyes.  “Because I’m a girl?” she said.

Clint shook his head.  “No.  Because not many people can do that as easily as you just did.”

“Think you can do better?” Kate challenged.

“Just watch me, Katie-Kate,” Clint replied, grinning when Kate scowled at the nickname.

As Clint stepped up to his mark, he felt Killian’s eyes on him.  Both Killian and Savin seemed very interested in Clint’s shooting.  It might have been because they just wanted Clint to lose, or maybe they saw Clint as a threat.  Either way, Clint couldn’t resist the urge to show off a little.  He’d rarely backed down from a challenge in his life.  Even when things were dangerous.  Besides, for all of Killian’s scrutiny, Phil was watching too, and Clint wanted to impress him.

Breathing out slowly, Clint nocked his first arrow and lined up his shot.  The old, but familiar jolt of anticipation ran up his spine.  It might have been years since his days at the circus, but there were things Clint would never forget.  Releasing the arrow, it cut through the air and hit the exact centre of the bullseye.  Clint grinned in triumph, already lining up his next shot.  Behind him, the audience clapped and Miss Ross giggled as Stark whooped in encouragement.  Deciding to make the competition a little more interesting, Clint shifted his arrow a little before he let go.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Kate’s smirk, but didn’t bother to correct her.  She’d work out what he was doing soon enough.

Thirty seconds later, Clint grinned in satisfaction.  In the centre of the target, he’d etched a cross pattern with his arrows.  Glancing over at Kate, Clint had to bite back a chuckle at Kate’s glare.  “Showoff,” she muttered.

“Think you can match it, Katie-Kate?” Clint teased.  He had little doubt that she could.

“Damn straight I can,” Kate snapped.  Her shoulders relaxed a little when Clint didn’t react to her swearing.  She arched an imperious eyebrow.  “Got any requests?”

Clint smirked.  “Surprise me.”

Kate grinned back fiercely.  “Oh, you’re on,” she replied.

~*~

Phil sipped another cup of tea as he watched Clint purposefully rile Miss Bishop.  It wasn’t malicious, but there seemed to be something very competitive between them.  It was also equally obvious that Miss Bishop was rising impressively to the challenge.  It made Phil wonder.  Clint had clearly recognised something in Miss Bishop.  He seemed to pushing her and her abilities, rather than discounting her.  Phil suspected Clint was one of the very few people she’d ever met who did.

Most of the other guests were watching the archery as intently as Phil.  Stark had stopped scribbling in his notebook, although it still lay open on the table between him and Banner.  Rhodes stood beside Pepper, offering a quiet comment every now and then.  Even Killian and Savin had arrived a little after Phil had sat down.  Almost as soon as he’d arrived, Killian had headed straight for where Pepper was standing.  His gaze had flicked away from Rhodes’ greeting, but Phil wasn’t sure what had caused the snub.  Despite Pepper’s growing discomfort, Killian was still standing too close.  Rhodes’ eyes strayed to him every time there was a delay in the archery.

“She doesn’t really like Killian’s flirting, you know,” Miss Ross said softly from Phil’s side.

Blinking, Phil turned to look at her.  Miss Ross smiled, but there was something bitter about her expression.  “She found it flattering at first, but now Killian won’t take no for an answer.  He keeps asking her to run away and marry him.”

While Phil had suspected Killian’s intentions, he was a little confused as to why Miss Ross was telling him.  If Pepper had told her, it must have been in confidence.  Some of that must have shown on his face, because Miss Ross’ smile turned into genuine amusement.  “You looked like you want to step between Pepper and Killian,” she said.  “Also, Pepper speaks very highly of you.  I’m sure if you asked, she’d tell you exactly the same thing about Mr Killian.”

Phil regarded Miss Ross for a moment.  She was definitely far more intelligent and observant than most people gave her credit for.  “You sound like a woman who knows from experience,” he said finally.

Miss Ross glanced away.  “You could say that,” she replied, the edges of her polite smile looking rather forced.

Phil shifted a little closer in his chair.  He wanted to reach out and lay a hand over Miss Ross’ in reassurance, but he didn’t know if his touch would be welcome.  “I would be happy to help you, Miss Ross, if assistance was needed,” he said.

Miss Ross’ face warmed.  “Thank you, Detective.”

Phil lapsed into silence as Miss Bishop began lining up her first shot for the second round.  He was perhaps not the best judge, but Miss Bishop was an impressive shot.  ,A fact which was only accentuated by the shape that began forming on her target.  Even Clint seemed to agree.  He was leaning casually against his bow, one of its ends resting on the grass, but his eyes were sharp on Miss Bishop.

“It’s all very impressive, isn’t it?” Miss Ross said quietly.

Glancing towards her, Phil smiled.  “It is,” he agreed.  “Both Clint and Miss Bishop have impressive form.”

Miss Ross blushed faintly.  “I meant the mathematical calculations needed to hit the intended targets,” she said.  “Although, I suppose the form is quite pleasing too.”

Phil chuckled softly.  “Does this mean you are observing the tournament as a science experiment, Miss Ross?”

Miss Ross smiled rather mischievously.  “You’re not?” she teased.  Her smile turned wry as she held up the book she’d been reading.  It appeared to be a thick text on biochemistry.  “I find science utterly fascinating.  It’s really quite remarkable how the world around us works.”  She paused, her eyes turning sad.  “Unfortunately, my father does not agree.  He believes science is not a lady-like subject of interest.  I have to content myself with borrowing books from Mr Stark’s library.”

“I am sorry, Miss Ross,” Phil told her.  There was no doubt in his mind that General Ross was judgemental man.  That he would stop his daughter from pursuing a subject he didn’t approve of did not seem strange.  Just sad.  “You should be allowed to follow your passion, wherever it might lead.”

“Thank you, Mr Coulson,” Miss Ross said, her smile warm.

Phil smiled back.  “You are welcome, Miss Ross.”

“My name is Betty, Mr Coulson,” Miss Ross said in a low voice as she leaned towards Phil with a smile.  “I think we are now friends enough for you to call me that.”

“Then you must call me Phil,” Phil replied.

Betty smiled, but Phil’s attention was caught by Clint stepping up to his mark.  After a bow to the crowd, Clint turned to the target and drew back his bow.  His shoulders shifted underneath his shirt with  the movement.  Phil watched, breathless, as Clint held his position for a beat.  Then he released the arrow which hit the target with a solid thunk.  Almost faster than Phil could follow, Clint nocked another.  Like Miss Bishop, his arrow hit inside the inner ring of the target, but not in the centre.  Phil frowned, but Clint didn’t flinch.  The arrow had hit where it was supposed to.

Cocking his head, Phil tried to work out what Clint was up to.  When the arrows started to resolve into a simple geometric triangle, Phil smiled.  As Clint shot his final arrow, the guests burst into a smattering of applause.  Phil smiled wider when Clint glanced in his direction, grinning proudly.  Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes stepped forward and held up a hand to get everyone’s attention.  As he did, Clint offered Phil and exaggerated wink.  Biting back a chuckle, Phil shook his head.

“I’m going to call a brief pause,” Rhodes announced.  He gestured towards a table where Jarvis had set out a few glasses of lemonade.  “So that we can offer everyone, including the archers, some light refreshments.”

The sun was warm for an autumn afternoon, and Phil was looking forward to a drink himself.  Turning to Miss Ross, Phil nodded towards the refreshment table.  “Can I get you a glass of lemonade, Betty?” he asked.

“Thank you,” Betty replied.  “That would be lovely.”

Phil headed for the refreshment table, nodding to Rhodes and Banner when he arrived.  Clint and Miss Bishop were nearby, their heads bowed together as they whispered fiercely.  Phil decided to leave them to it, reluctant to intrude on the friendship growing between them.

“Enjoying the archery so far, Detective?” Rhodes asked with a smile.

“Very much,” Phil replied.

Rhodes grinned, shooting a teasing glance towards Banner.  “If we ask Bruce nicely, he might even be able to tell us how they do it.”

Banner smiled wryly.  “I can tell you the physics behind it, but there is far more to the skill than just that,” he replied.

“If one can call hitting a stationary target a skill,” Killian cut in dismissively as he sauntered over.  “Hitting a moving target far more impressive.”

Phil clenched his jaw, swallowing down his angry retort.  Killian was just trying to get a reaction.  His distaste was clear for Banner and Rhodes, and Phil suspected, himself.  “I find that entirely depends on the size of the target,” Phil said mildly.  “If large enough, even a moving target is easy to hit.”

Killian sneered, his eyes flicking over Phil.  “I suppose everyone is entitled to their own opinion,” he replied.

“Indeed,” Phil said coolly.

Killian stalked off again, taking a glass of lemonade back towards Pepper.  Rhodes narrowed his eyes, his hand tightening on his own glass.  When Phil glanced at Dr Banner, he was surprised to find Banner’s gaze fixed over Phil’s shoulder.  Banner’s entire face was pulled into a frown, and his hands curled into fists by his sides.  Carefully, Phil shifted, so he could glance in the same direction.  Captain Blonsky had appeared and was standing close to Betty, who had risen to her feet.

When, precisely, Blonsky had arrived, Phil had not noticed.  He cursed himself for being so distracted.  Betty looked uncomfortable next to Blonsky, her eyes darting to the side as if she was planning her escape.  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Phil muttered.  He gave Jarvis a nod of thanks when he held our two glasses of lemonade.

Crossing the lawn as fast as he could without seeming like he was rushing, Phil fixed a blandly polite smile on his face.  “Miss Ross,” he said coming to stand beside Betty.  Subtly, Phil turned his shoulders so Blonsky was forced to shift backwards a step.  He held out the glass of lemonade, catching the flash of relief that went through Betty’s eyes.

“Thank you, Mr Coulson,” Betty said, taking the glass with both hands.

“You’re welcome, Miss Ross,” Phil replied.  He turned back towards Blonsky, shifting his bearing to appear as harmless as possible.  “And it’s Captain Blonsky, isn’t it?  How are you enjoying the afternoon?  Lovely weather for an archery competition, don’t you think?”

Blonsky sneered.  “The lady and I were having a private conversation,” he growled.

Phil blinked, letting his expression turn confused.  “Oh, but you don’t want to miss the next round, do you?  All this archery is so thrilling.  Don’t you want to watch?”

For a moment, Blonsky looked furious.  “You are interested in watching this archery competition, Betty?” he asked, his voice clipped.

“I am,” Betty replied.  She tilted up her chin, as if expecting an argument, but stood her ground.

Blonsky glanced at Phil before dipping his head stiffly.  “Then I shall leave you to your entertainment,” he said.  “Please excuse me.”

Both Betty and Phil watched Blonsky stalk angrily towards the house.  Betty breathed out a sigh of relief when Blonsky disappeared from sight.  “Thank you, Phil,” she said.

“Are you all right?” Phil asked.

Betty’s smile turned sardonic.  “Like Killian, The Captain does not like the answer ‘no’ to his attempts at courting,” she said.  “I fear my father is encouraging him.”

Phil frowned.  His impression of General Ross was definitely of a man who liked to dictate the rules for everyone around him.  “Is there anything I can do to help?” he said.

“No, but thank you,” Betty replied.  Her hand came up to touch something hidden underneath her blouse.  “There are things I should have told my father a long time ago.”

“I understand,” Phil replied.

Betty smiled.  “You are a good man, Detective,” she said.  “I can see why Pepper likes you so much.”

Phil blushed a little at the praise.  He was unused to beautiful women complimenting him.  Particularly since he was never interested in courting them.

Thankfully, Phil was saved from replying when Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes cleared his throat.  With a smile, Rhodes announced the final two rounds of the archery competition.  Phil settled back into his chair beside Betty’s, grateful Killian remained on the other side of the lawn.  Killian was definitely not as altruistically charming as he first appeared.  Mentally, Phil shifted him high up the suspect list.  There was definitely something going on.  However, whether Killian was responsible for the attempts on Stark’s life remained to be proven.

During the next round, both Clint and Miss Bishop attempted increasingly complicated geometric shapes.  Phil watched in amazement, the stunning shots helping take his mind off Killian.  The more Clint sank into his archery, the more Phil realised how intrinsic it was to Clint.  Phil resolved again to do something about it when they got back to London.

In what felt like no time at all, Miss Bishop was lining up for the final round on her furthest target.  She was concentrating fiercely, but this time Phil did not recognise the pattern.  Phil narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out the shape the arrows were forming.  After her fifth arrow, Clint leaned back with a bark of laughter.  Phil narrowed his eyes, before his lips quirked up into a smile.  With a final flourish, Miss Bishop added the last arrow to the letter ‘K’ she’s made in the middle of the target.  The watching audience burst into applause, Clint leading the way with a loud cheer.  “Think you can do better, Barton?” Miss Bishop called out in challenge.

Clint cocked his head, considering the target.  “Think I could make a ‘B’?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”  Miss Bishop eyed him.  “Can you?”

Grinning, Clint sauntered over to his own mark.  “I guess we’ll find out,” he called back.

Phil heard Miss Ross shift beside him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Clint.  Clint was beautiful in the sunlight, standing braced in front of his target.  He shot each arrow fluidly, nocking another on the string almost as soon as the first was gone.  When Clint send his final arrow towards the target, spelling out the letter ‘B’, Phil smiled.  It was obvious that both Clint and Miss Bishop had considerable skills.  Just as it was equally clear that the competition had lost some of its fierce rivalry.

Everyone burst into clasps and cheers.  Both Clint and Miss Bishop turned at the applause, bowing elaborately to their audience.  Rhodes stepped up beside them with a grin.  “I think we can all agree this was an impressive competition,” he said.  “So impressive that I’m not sure I can judge who the winner should be.”

“Rhodey, don’t be a jerk!” Stark called out.

Rhodes rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored Stark.  “I don’t care what Tony says,” he continued.  “I’m declaring you both winners.”

Clint, who was once again leaning casually against his bow, glanced at Miss Bishop.  Miss Bishop raised both her eyebrows and stared back.  “Well, what do you say, Hawkeye?” she said.

“I say that it’s an honour to share the title with such a fine archer, Hawkeye,” Clint replied with a grin.

“Hawkeye?” Stark echoed at a shout.  “Did you two given yourselves nicknames when no one was watching?  I thought only I was allowed to do that?”

“Oh, hush, Tony,” Pepper said.  “Not everything is about you.”

“I was just saying…” Stark began.

“Yes, come on, Tony,” Killian cut in.  “If Miss Bishop and Mr Barton want to give each other provincial nicknames, who are we to stop them?”

Clint stiffened immediately at the insult, his eyes narrowed in anger, but it was Miss Bishop who spoke first.  “Provincial we may be, but I vastly prefer that to sitting idly all day like the gentleman you claim to be, Mr Killian,” she said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil caught Pepper biting back a smile.  Stepping forward, she cleared her throat.  “Perhaps we should all take this inside?” she said hopefully.

“Good idea, Pep,” Stark said loudly before Killian could voice another sneering comment.  “I could use a drink.”

Rhodes nodded.  “I’ll join you,” he agreed.

“I think I shall as well,” Pepper said, her voice and her smile just a touch too bright.  “Aldrich?”

“Yes, of course,” Killian replied, straightening up and smoothing down his suit.  “Why not?”

~*~

As the guests began to disperse, Clint glanced over Kate’s shoulder.  Phil had his back to the others, which was unlike him, as he inspected both targets.  Clint wasn’t sure if Phil was just impressed with the archery, or if he was thinking something over.

“Well, I can see I’ve lost you,” Kate said.  Her mouth was smiling, but there was something dark and sad in her eyes.  “Thanks for the competition, Hawkeye.”

Clint bit back a grimace, because Kate was withdrawing.  “Aww, don’t quit on me now, kid,” he muttered.

Kate blinked, and then arched an eyebrow.  “And what else did you have planned?” she asked.

Clint hesitated, wondering exactly how to phrase what he wanted to ask.  “Well, I was hoping you could do me a favour,” he said.

Kate narrowed her eyes.  “What kind of favour?” she replied suspiciously.

“Something strange is going on,” Clint told her quietly.  “And I’m not entirely sure what it is, but it seems to centre around Stark.  I was hoping you could head inside and keep an eye out for me.  Tell me what you see?”

Kate’s entire face lit up with excitement.  “Are you asking for my help with a case?” she asked.

Smirking, Clint let some of his own curiosity show.  “Think you can handle it, Hawkeye?” he challenged.

Kate sniffed.  “Of course I can,” she said.  She carefully patted down her hair to check it was still in place.  “I bet you that whatever is going on, Killian is involved somehow.”

“You don’t like him?” Clint said.

“Not even a little,” Kate replied.

Clint couldn’t fault her taste.  Kate gave him a lazy salute, and Clint rolled his eyes.  As she headed inside, he wandered over to where Phil was standing.  “So,” Clint said, coming to stand beside Phil.  “Kate’s pretty good, isn’t she?”

Phil turned with a smile.  “That, without a doubt, was one of the most impressive things I have ever seen,” he said, his voice full of quiet wonder.

Clint duck his head, warmth bursting through his chest.  “I bet you say that to all the boys, Detective,” he quipped.

Shaking his head, Phil gently pressed his shoulder to Clint’s.  “Only the scoundrels,” he teased back.

Letting out a breath, Clint glanced around before his eyes were drawn back to the archery targets.  His shoulders and arms were aching pleasantly, his mind calm.  When he woke up in the morning, he’d probably hurt, but for now, he felt great.  Around them, Jarvis and Happy were gathering tea pots and chairs, everyone else back at the house.  Pepper and Rhodey were hopefully keeping an eye on Stark.  At least Clint hadn’t seen either him or Banner sneak back into the laboratory.

“I feel like I should help gather arrows, but also that we should be keeping a closer eye on our suspects,” Phil said.

“So why aren’t you?” Clint asked before he could curb the impulse.

Phil let out an almost silent sigh, his shoulders slumping.  “I really just don’t want to,” he admitted.  “Which I know isn’t proper behavior for a detective…”

“Hey,” Clint interrupted.  “You’re allowed to be human, Phil.”  If they hadn’t been outside, Clint would have pulled Phil in for a hug.  “Besides, I’ve got Kate watching everyone.  Between her, Pepper and Rhodes, they’ll have it covered.”

Phil’s eyebrows were raised when he looked at Clint.  “You asked Miss Bishop for help?” he said.

“Kate can do it,” Clint defended.  “She’s smart and observant.  The only reason she hasn’t figured out what’s going on yet is she’s young and isn’t used to all the lies adults tell each other yet.”

Phil rested a hand on Clint’s arm, the view blocked from sight by Phil’s body, just in case anyone was watching from the house.  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Phil said softly.  “Miss Bishop is a bright young woman.  I was just curious about the closeness you share.”  A wry smile pulled at the corner of Phil’s mouth.  “You only met Miss Bishop yesterday.”

Clint rolled his eyes.  “She’s a really good archer, okay?”

“She really is,” Phil agreed easily.  “Besides, I think this is the closest I’m ever going to get to seeing what it would have been like when you first met Natasha.”

Clint blinked, a shiver wracking him.  Meeting Natasha had been the one bright point in months if icy cold and crippling hunger.  Of course, things had then got a whole lot bloodier, but Clint would never trade meeting Natasha for anything.

“Clint?”

Clint blinked out of his memories to find Phil watching him with concerned blue eyes.  “I’m sorry,” Phil said.  “I didn’t mean to bring up things you didn’t want to remember.”

“It’s okay, Phil,” Clint replied.  “I… I’m not trying to keep secrets or anything, but…”

“You never have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Clint,” Phil said.  “Whenever or if ever you want to tell me about meeting Natasha, I’ll listen.  But only if you want to.”

Clint blinked suddenly stinging eyes.  He was grateful beyond words for everything that had led him to meeting Phil.  “Thank you, Phil,” he whispered.

If they had been somewhere more private, Clint would have swayed forward to kiss Phil.  Judging by the look on his face, Phil was having the same thoughts.  “Shall we go inside before dinner?” he asked.

Clint made a face, because he’d rather face Ralph Faulkner in a sword fight again than eat dinner with some of the guests.  “I suppose if we must,” he agreed.  “Someone needs to keep an eye on these suspicious characters.”

Phil looked like he was fighting a smile, the amusement softening his face.  “Needs must,” he agreed.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reference to Ralph Faulkner in this chapter. For those of you who don't know, Mr Faulkner was an archer and film star who was making movies during the 1930's. I rather think Clint would have been a little impressed with that ;)


	6. The Body in the Library

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 15th, 1934_

Unfortunately, dinner was just as tense as it had been the previous evening.  Even more unfortunate was Miss Bishop’s absence.  Clint had done his best to be charming, but there was only so much he could do.  He’d told stories of his more exciting adventures, and Stark had chimed in after the first with his own anecdotes.  Even Phil and Betty had been laughing quietly by the end.  General Ross and Captain Blonsky had retired early, which was a relief, because Killian had been in rare form.  He’d barely let a comment go by without adding his own snide remark, particularly when Stark or Phil had been speaking.  Phil had been grateful when dinner had been over and he’d been able to retreat to his room.  Originally, Phil had planned to wait around, just to make sure no further accidents befell Stark, but no one was much in a mood to linger in conversation after some of Killian’s cutting words.  The last Phil had seen of Killian, he and Savin had disappeared into the library for another drink.

Heading back to his room, Phil had asked Jarvis for his own.  The butler had delivered it with his usual efficiency, and Phil had slumped into the chair in front of the fireplace to think.  Nothing about the case made sense.  Whoever was behind them had disguised the attempts on Stark’s life as accidents.  Yet, Phil had noted several missed opportunities.  Perhaps his and Clint’s presence had put him or her off, but Phil didn’t think that was it.  He felt like there was a detail he was missing that would explain everything.

The combination of alcohol and the warmth of the fire soon had Phil yawning widely.  His thoughts on the case were getting increasingly hazy, and he debated going to bed.  Clint had hinted that he was going to sneak into Phil’s room, but Phil had no idea when Clint would get the chance.  Lifting his hand, Phil stared at the firelight reflecting off the scotch he’d half drunk.  He could do a little sneaking himself, but Phil wasn’t sure of his welcome.  He didn’t doubt Clint -- for a scoundrel, Clint was remarkably honest about his feelings.  Definitely more honest than Phil.  Phil was just so used to being alone, that part of him still felt the last few months had been a dream.

Phil sighed.  He was tired enough that he was getting melodramatic.

The door clicked open, and Clint’s familiar but shadowed figure slipped inside the room.  Phil hadn’t bothered to turn on any of the lamps, and the fire was the only thing lighting the room.  Even so, Phil could still see the way Clint’s gaze took him in before Clint raised an eyebrow.  “I’m not interrupting your brooding, am I, Detective?” he asked.

Phil smile faintly, as he was so prone to do around Clint.  “No,” he replied softly.  “I was just contemplating sleep.  And remembering how big and empty my bed felt last night.”

Clint moved closer so he could perch on the arm of the chair Phil was slumped in.  This close, Phil eyed the matching pajamas Clint was wearing.  It was hardly his usual sleepwear, but probably easier to explain if he was caught wandering the corridors.  Clint smirked, and his nimble fingers found their way into Phil’s hair.  Phil hummed and closed his eyes as Clint scratched softly.

“You know,” Clint said quietly, his tone faintly amused.  “I’m not the only one sneaking around tonight.”

Phil attempted to rouse himself from the hazy pleasure of Clint’s fingers.  “Oh?” he asked.

“I heard someone slipping out the front door as I was creeping past the stairs,” Clint said.

Phil frowned.  “Slipping _out_?” he echoed.  “Why does someone need to leave in the middle of the night?”

Clint hummed. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Tilting his head back, Phil looked up at Clint and sighed.  “I’m missing something in this case, and I don’t know what it is,” he said.

Clint smirked.  “Detective Coulson, are you admitting to not knowing something?” he teased.

Phil tried to scowl, but the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth ruined the effect.  “I was actually hoping my esteemed fellow detective might know instead,” he replied.

Ducking his head slightly, Clint’s smile turned somewhat shy, which was not a normal expression on him.  Leaning a bit heavier against Phil’s shoulder, Clint’s eyes turned sombre.  “There are enough undercurrents in this house to get lost,” he said.  “Killian is definitely up to something.  He tolerates Banner.  He seems to want to show Stark up and yet pretends to be his friend.  And he absolutely hates Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes.  The antagonism as far as I can tell is completely mutual.”  Clint frowned, his eyebrows pulling down.  “Killian also seems intent on seducing Pepper, but she’s not interested in his games.”

Phil nodded.  “That was my idea of things, too,” he agreed.  “Captain Blonsky is another who attempting courtship.  Miss Ross seems as equally against the idea.”  Tugging gently, Phil pulled until Clint half-fell into his lap, one arm braced against the back of the chair.

Clint shook his head, but his eyes danced with laughter.  “You know, you could have just asked,” he said.

Phil shrugged.  “Probably,” he agreed.

Shifting himself until he was more comfortable, Clint swung his legs over one of the chair arms.  He gently took the half glass of scotch from Phil’s hand to put on the floor.  Phil didn’t protest, far happier to cuddle close to Clint.  “So what’s the next plan with the case?” Clint asked.

“I don’t know.”  Phil sighed again.  “I think we need to keep an eye on Killian and Savin, which will be difficult.  Yet, they appear to be the only ones with motive to want Stark dead.”

“And there’s the Triad angle to consider,” Clint added.

Phil let his head drop back against the back of the chair.  “I’m beginning to dislike the Ten Rings Triad very much,” he grumbled.

Clint chuckled softly.  “Well, we don’t have to think about them anymore tonight, Phil,” he said.

Cracking open an eye, Phil regarded the mischievous gaze inches away.  “No?”

“No,” Clint agreed, leaning in even closer as he pressed his lips to Phil’s.

~*~

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 16th, 1934_

Clint hummed sleepily, rolling closer to Phil and burrowing deeper into the blankets.   It was still dark outside, and therefore far too early to be awake.  Phil slid a warm hand slowly down Clint’s back, and he smiled.  Nuzzling his nose into the space between Phil’s neck and shoulder, Clint hummed again.  “Was there something you wanted, Detective?” he murmured, stubbornly refusing to open his eyes.

“No,” Phil replied softly, pressing a kiss to Clint’s temple.  “Only that, as much as I would like to keep you here, I fear it is time for you to sneak out again.”

Grumbling, Clint cracked open an eye.  To say that he didn’t want to leave would be an understatement.  He was warm and comfortable, and Phil was lying mostly naked beside him.  “Must I?” he asked with a sigh.  “Are you sure anyone will notice if I stay?”

“Sadly, I think they might,” Phil replied.  He sounded amused and fond, but Clint could hear the disappointment underneath.  It helped Clint feel better that Phil was as reluctant to see him go as he was to leave.

Clint sighed again.  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Carefully, he pushed himself up on one arm as he reached over to flip on the lamp on the bedside table.  Below him, Phil looked soft and dishevelled.  Clint couldn’t resist leaning down to brush a kiss to his lips.  Phil’s hand slid up to tangle in Clint’s hair, pulling him closer.  It took everything Clint had not to deepen the kiss and press Phil into the sheets again.  “Mmm, I thought I was supposed to be sneaking out?” he said, pulling back to rest his forehead against Phil’s.

Phil’s eyes were dark, the crinkles at the corners deepening as he smiled.  “I’m not stopping you,” he said.

“Oh really?”  Clint kissed Phil once more before attempting to sit up.  “You’re going to have to let me go then, Phil.”

Clint shifted, moving to push back the blankets and roll out of bed, but Phil’s hand on his arm stopped him.  He meant to ask what Phil wanted, but as Phil sat up, the sheets slid down to his waist.  Clint swallowed, his gaze taking a long, meandering path upwards before it met Phil’s.  “I’ll see you at breakfast in a few hours,” Phil said quietly.

“You will,” Clint agreed.

Phil reached up to cup Clint’s face.  “I’m sorry you can’t stay for longer,” he said.

Clint smiled sadly.  “I understand, Phil,” he replied, leaning into Phil’s touch.  “We’ll be back at your apartment soon enough.”

Phil smoothed his thumb along Clint’s cheekbone.  “I was hoping you might start to think of it as our apartment,” he said.

“Ours?” Clint echoed, the word settling deep inside his chest.

“If you want?” Phil added, his tone hopeful.

Clint slumped forwards, closing his eyes and resting against Phil’s solid weight for a moment.  “Ours sounds really good, Phil,” he said.  Tilting his head up, Clint caught Phil’s mouth in another kiss, this one fierce and hungry.  “Okay, I’d better leave before we really get in trouble.”

“Yes,” Phil replied, his eyes sliding closed for a beat.  They had too many enemies right now.  “Go.”

Dragging himself out of Phil’s strong arms and warm bed, Clint stretched as he searched for his pajama shirt.  It was still hanging from the armchair by the fire.  As he pulled it on, he glanced at Phil, who was still sitting amongst the blankets.  Clint fixed the sight in his memory.  He wanted to hold onto it like the ghost of Phil’s fingers trailing along his skin.  Just to warm him while he tried to catch a few more hours sleep in his own bed before breakfast.

With a final wink, Clint ducked out into the corridor.  It was only a few steps back to his room, but as he closed Phil’s door behind him, he heard a solid click.  The distinct sound of footsteps echoed through the silent house.  Clint cocked his head, listening.  Whoever it was didn’t seem to be coming up the stairs towards the rooms on this side of the house.  Nonetheless, Clint was curious.  He risked sneaking forwards, slipping towards the stairs and peering down through the bannister.  The shadowy figured skulking along downstairs was definitely a man, and he was wearing a coat.  Belatedly, Clint realised the noise he’d heard was the front door closing.  Whoever it was must be the same person he’d caught sneaking out on the way to Phil’s room earlier.  Clint frowned, because that was a long time to be outside.

The figure paused, tilting his head and a shaft of light splashed across the man’s features.  Clint barely stopped himself sucking in a sharp breath.

Captain Blonsky.

Clint grimaced, resolving to tell Phil first thing before breakfast.  They might just have found out who was trying to kill Stark.

~*~

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 16th, 1934_

Phil absently tugged at his cuff as he stepped out of his room.  He’d fallen into a restless sleep after Clint had left, but he’d woken again early.  As it was almost breakfast, he’d given up on sleep and gotten dressed instead.  Glancing down the corridor, he debated whether he should knock on Clint’s door.  He didn’t want to wake Clint if he was still sleeping, but Phil also wanted his company.  As if conjured by Phil’s thoughts, the door to Clint’s room opened and Clint slipped out.  Phil felt both his eyebrows rise.  This morning, Clint had not rolled up his sleeves and was wearing a jacket.  Phil found himself instantly missing Clint’s more dishevelled appearance.

“Phil, I’m glad I caught you,” Clint said, his face serious as he hurried over.

Phil’s cheerful greeting died on his tongue.  “What’s happened?” he asked.

Clint glanced around, as if to make sure they would not be overheard.  “I found out who was sneaking around last night,” he said softly.  “It was Captain Blonsky.”

Raising both his eyebrows, Phil blinked.  That had not been the answer he had been expecting at all.  “You’re certain?” he asked.

Clint nodded.  “Completely.”  His eyes flickered over Phil’s face.  “You look confused.  Is it that much of a surprise?”

Phil shook his head.  “I can’t say I like the man,” he admitted, “but I also wouldn’t have said Captain Blonsky had a motive to kill Stark.”

Stepping a little closer, Clint shrugged.  This close, Phil caught the scent of his cologne and had to clench his fists in order not to reach for Clint.  From the mischief dancing in Clint’s eyes, some of the urge must have shown on his face.  Clint was so very good at reading him.  “Or maybe we just haven’t figured out what his motive is yet,” Clint suggested.

Frowning, Phil was about to reply when a piercing scream cut through the air.  Phil barely spared a glance for Clint’s widening eyes before he spun on his heel.  The scream had come from the library, and Phil raced down the stairs.  Jarvis was running up from the direction of the kitchen when Phil got to the library door.  A second later, Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes came in through the side door from the gardens.

“What was…?” Rhodes started to asked when he saw Phil.

Phil shook his head.  “Library.”

He and Clint reached the doorway first, just in time for the housekeeper, Mrs Davis, to come running out.  She was clearly distraught, and Clint caught her easily when she crashed into him.  She buried her face into Clint’s shoulder with a sob.  Phil met Clint’s eyes, but Clint just jerked his head in the direction of the door.

Phil could see something was wrong even before he stepped inside the library.  Mrs Davis must have turned on the light, but not much else, because the curtains for the corner windows were still shut.  With a slow breath, Phil scanned the scene.  The desk that usually sat in the corner was on its side, the Tiffany lamp smashed into the carpet.  Papers had been torn and scattered around the room.  When Phil looked closer, he noticed the cushions tossed from the sofas and books still lay where they’d been thrown.  Whatever argument had taken place had been violent.  Phil was dreading what else he would find.  He’d always struggled to separate from his emotions at a crime scene.

When he caught sight of the shoes sticking out from behind the overturned desk, his heart began to pound.  Steeling himself, Phil stepped around the desk.  At his first glimpse of the body, Phil had to turn his head away and swallow.  His years at Scotland Yard had prepared him for all manner of death, but this murder seemed particularly brutal.  The body was of a man, still wearing his suit from dinner.  Judging by the angle, he lay where he’d fallen.  With another deep breath, Phil forced his eyes up to the victim’s face, and let out a shuddering sigh of relief.

It wasn’t Stark.

When Phil had heard the scream, for an instant he’d feared Stark had fallen victim to one of the ‘accidents’.  Instead, the face of Aldrich Killian stared back at Phil.  Dark bruises obscured Killian’s face, but his slicked back hair was recognisable.  As was the garish school ring on his finger.  Beneath the body, something was still soaking into the carpet.  A faint tang of metal hung in the air, almost like blood, but not.  Crouching down, Phil was careful to avoid the liquid as he reached for Killian’s wrist.  Checking for a pulse was more a formality at this point, but Phil still needed to do it.  He shivered, the skin cool to the touch.

Killian’s throat was dark with bruising and looked strangely sunken.  Phil had to turn his head away in an attempt to control the sudden surge of nausea.  The cause of death appeared to be strangulation.  Killian’s clothes were also disturbed, and Phil narrowed his eyes.  It could have been the result of the fight between Killian and his attacker, but somehow Phil didn’t think so.

“Phil?” Clint called out softly.

Phil heard Clint’s familiar footsteps head towards him.  “I’m over here,” he called out in reply.

Clint moved around the desk as Phil stood, and Phil saw the way he swallowed and his face went pale at the sight of the body.  “ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, his eyes flicking to Phil’s.  “Is that…?”

Phil shook his head.  “It’s Killian,” he said quietly.

Clint breathed out.  “Well, that’s something, I suppose,” he said.

Clearing his throat, Phil stepped away from the body.  “Where’s Mrs Davis?” he asked.

“Rhodes and Jarvis took her to the kitchen for a stiff drink,” Clint replied.

Phil nodded.  “Right,” he said.

Clint searched his face, worry clear in his eyes.  Phil wasn’t sure what Clint saw, but after a moment, he nodded.  “So what do you need me to do?” he asked.

“We need to telephone the police,” Phil told him.  “We also need to make sure someone locks the library door to preserve the crime scene.”

Clint nodded.  “And the guests?”

Phil let out a slow breath.  “We need to make sure no one leaves,” he said.  “Because one of them is a murderer.”

~*~

Breakfast was a rather subdued affair.  Keeping Killian’s murder a secret hadn’t really been a possibility, so they hadn’t tried.  Clint had taken it upon himself to watch the guests, particularly after everyone had been confined to the house.  So far, the only interruption had been the arrival of constables from the local police station.  One of the young men had immediately taken up a post outside the library door, while the other two patrolled the grounds.  The Inspector had been called away for the birth of his second child, so someone was reportedly being sent up from London.  Clint was pretty sure the only reason Scotland Yard was getting involved was because Stark had truckloads of money.

“Are you all right?” Phil asked, leaning close to whisper in Clint’s ear.

Clint glanced at him and offered a small smile.  Carefully, he lifted his tea cup to hide his mouth.  “I’m just keeping an eye on our suspects,” he replied, before taking a sip of coffee.  It was Clint’s third cup, but it was really good.

Phil hummed thoughtfully, taking a sip of his own coffee.  “Me too.”

In Clint’s mind, Captain Blonsky was their chief suspect.  They already knew he’d been sneaking around last night.  It didn’t help that Blonsky kept shifting in his chair as if he wanted to get up and leave.  General Ross wasn’t doing much better.  He kept shooting resentful glances through the window as he flexed his left hand.  At the other and of the table, Pepper sat with Miss Ross and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes.  Both ladies were looking pale, and Betty’s hands shook every time she tried to lift her tea cup.  Pepper and Rhodes were a little better composed, but they still looked very shaken up by Killian’s death.  Savin was reportedly still in his rooms, which Clint found interesting.  He’d never pegged Savin as the overly sentimental type, and he didn’t think Savin was grieving.  Stark and Banner were in the laboratory again, but Clint wasn’t sure what they intended to accomplish.

“This is ridiculous!” General Ross snapped loudly.  “Why must we be kept here?”

“There’s been a murder, General,” Phil replied coolly.  “The police will want to speak to us all.”

Clint frowned, watching Ross.  He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was off about the man.  He looked pale, his own dark shadows under his eyes, and he was definitely jittery.  Clint couldn’t tell if it was just Ross’ impatience, or something deeper and more sinister.  The General was used to giving orders, not having to follow them.

“Well,” General Ross snapped.  “I’ll be in my room when the police finally decide to grace us with their presence.”  Shoving aside his tea cup, he stood and stalked out.  Blonsky was a silent shadow following him.

“It’s probably for the best that my father keeps to his room,” Betty said after a moment.  Her smile was wan.  “His temper isn’t the best at times like these.”

“Is it ever?” Rhodes muttered, only to have Pepper glare at him.  Clint had to bite back a genuine smile.

Pepper turned her attention to Phil and Clint.  “There isn’t really any easy way to ask this, but… Phil, could you look into this?  Find out who killed Killian?”

“Of course,” Phil said softly.  “You don’t have to ask.”

Pepper sagged a little in relief, and Rhodes laid a hand on her arm in offered comfort.  “Thank you,” she breathed.  Clearing her throat, she straightened.  Her gaze was sharp as she looked between Clint and Phil.  “If you need to question us, you can start now.  Ask anything you need to.”

Phil let out a near silent breath.  “Well, I suppose the traditional question would be to ask you all where you were after dinner last night?” he said.

Miss Ross pushed her tea cup away from her.  “So that’s when he was killed then?  After dinner?”

Clint watched as she curled her shaking hands together and hid them in her lap, obscured by the table.  “At this point it’s mostly a guess,” he said.  “The coroner has to examine the body before we know for certain.”

Miss Ross glanced up with a tentative smile.  “Of course,” she said.  “Empirical data rather than supposition.”

“I’m not sure how much help I can be,” Rhodes broke in.  “After I escorted Pepper to her room, I went straight to my own.”

Phil nodded.  “And you went straight to sleep?” he inquired.

Rhodes blinked.  “Ah, no, actually,” he replied.  “I stayed up reading for a while.”

“Did you hear anything?” Clint asked, but nothing about Rhodes’ posture or expression suggested he was lying.

Rhodes was quiet for a moment.  “No,” he said finally.  “I don’t remember hearing anything out of the ordinary.”  His eyes shifted to the side, and Clint frowned inwardly.  That Rhodes _was_ lying about.  “My room is on the floor below Tony’s master suit, so it’s on the opposite side to the library,” Rhodes added.

Pepper nodded.  “I didn’t hear anything either,” she said.  “My rooms are near Tony’s on the second floor.”

“And you, Miss Ross?” Phil said.

“I returned to my room after dinner as well,” Miss Ross replied.  “It was a little before my father, I think.  He and Captain Blonsky needed to discuss something, so I think they had a drink in the Red Drawing Room.”  Miss Ross smiled wryly.  “I just wanted to get away from the Captain, so I retreated to my room.”

“Do you have any idea when your father or Captain Blonsky returned to their rooms?” Phil asked.

Miss Ross frowned.  “No, I’m afraid I don’t,” she replied.  “Although, I did run into Mr Savin at around midnight, when I was returning from fetching a glass of water from the kitchens.”

Clint made a mental note.  He’d snuck out of his own room just after eleven o’clock, which was when he’d first seen Blonsky.  “What about Stark and Dr Banner?  Did anyone see where they went after dinner?” he said.

“I think Tony and Bruce disappeared into Tony’s study for a while,” Rhodes said.

“None of this is very helpful, is it?” Pepper said wryly.

Clint shrugged, and smiled at her.  “I haven’t been a detective’s associate long, but I have noticed that not everything that _is_ important seems that way at first,” he said.  “That, and I still haven’t figured out how Phil’s mind actually works.”

He risked a glance at Phil, only to find Phil staring back with an arched eyebrow.  “Since when are you just a detective’s associate?” he asked.

Clint smirked.  “Since I’m the one usually making the tea,” he quipped.

If not for their audience, Clint was pretty sure Phil would have rolled his eyes.  “Well, I’m sure brewing tea is a very important job,” Miss Ross said diplomatically, but Clint caught the humour dancing in her eyes.

“Indeed,” Phil agreed, his own gaze bright with laughter as he took a sip from his tea cup.

“You know,” Clint said dryly.  “I’d believe you more of you weren’t drinking coffee right now.”

“Maybe you should learn how to make coffee then,” Phil told him.

Rhodes and Miss Ross chuckled, and Pepper smiled, no doubt as Phil had planned.  Things faded into silence before Pepper rose to her feet.  “I should go and see if Jarvis or Mrs Davis need any help in the kitchen.”  She glanced at Phil.  “You’ll need to talk to both of them, too?”

Phil nodded.  “I would like to, yes,” he agreed.  “But first, we should wait for the Inspector that Scotland Yard is sending.”

“Right.  Of course.”  Pepper nodded back.  “If you’ll excuse me.”

Clint watched Pepper leave as he finished his coffee.  Phil seemed thoughtful beside him, but Clint hadn’t been lying earlier when he’d said Phil’s mind was a mystery to him.  Phil hummed, glancing at Clint.  His lips betrayed a hint of a smile before his eyes flicked back to Rhodes and Miss Ross again.  “If you’ll excuse us as well, there’s something Clint and I need to do,” he said.

He rose fluidly to his feet, nodding towards Rhodes and Miss Ross.  Clint stood as well, wondering what Phil was planning now.  They passed the constable guarding the library as they headed towards the front of the house.  Once the constable was out of earshot, Clint turned to Phil.  “So what are we doing?” he asked.

Phil sent him an amused glance.  “We’re heading to the Rose Garden,” he said.  “I noticed the constables miss it on their patrols.”

Clint blinked, unsure what the Rose Garden had to do with anything.  “Are we searching for clues?” he said.

Phil’s gaze was warm and fond as he opened the side door.  “No,” he replied.  “But we won’t be overheard and we definitely won’t be seen from anyone inside the house.”

Clint smirked.  “Oh, is that how it is, Detective?”

Huffing, Phil held open the door pointedly.  “I thought we could go over a few things in private before Scotland Yard arrives,” he said.

“Sure,” Clint agreed.  “We can do that too.”

~*~

After the closed in feel of the house, being outside was almost a relief.  Phil took a deep breath of cool morning air.  Unfortunately, he and Clint wouldn’t be able to linger long.  A series of hedges divided the garden from the rest of the grounds, but the patrolling constables would still be able to see them.  Hopefully Phil wouldn’t need long.

“You know,” Clint drawled from behind him.  “It occurs to me that if you’d just wanted a little privacy, there are far more comfortable rooms in the house.”  When Phil turned, Clint raised both his eyebrows, as if challenging Phil to disagree.  “Unless you want to drag me behind the hedge?”

Phil huffed, but he couldn’t stop the jolt of warmth that went through him anyway.  Clint’s tone hadn’t been resistant to the idea of any dragging.  He’d sounded more like he was listing possibilities.  “I don’t tend to enjoy assaulting the shrubbery,” Phil said dryly.

Clint’s eyes danced.  “That sounds a lot like you might be talked into it later, Detective,” he said.  His gaze flicked over Phil’s shoulder as his face turned more serious.  “I can’t help but notice you can see the library windows from here.”

Phil nodded.  “I wanted to see how likely the possibility was of the murderer getting into the library from outside,” he said.

“You’re thinking about Captain Blonsky?” Clint replied.  “Or one of the Ten Rings Triad?”

Phil smiled.  So very little got passed Clint.  Not only had Clint seen the chance that Captain Blonsky might have entered the library from the garden, but he’d remembered the Triad thug Phil had seen in the village.  “At this point I was thinking either,” he admitted.

Clint swept the gardens with his sharp gaze.  “I’m not sure how likely the Ten Rings Triad is,” he said thoughtfully.  “The gardens are mostly open, and the house is a fair distance from the village.  It would far easier for the Triad to have Killian murdered in London than here.”

Nodding, Phil sighed.  That had been his thought too.  “Blonsky is still a possibility,” he said.  “But he would have known that as a guest, he’d be a suspect anyway.  Why go through the extra trouble of leaving the house first?”

“To make it look like someone else?” Clint suggested quietly.  “If you saw the Triad thug, maybe he did too.”

Phil nodded.  “You might be right,” he agreed.  “We still need a motive, though -- for Blonsky or for anyone else.”

Stepping closer, Clint ran his hand down Phil’s sleeve until he could tangle their fingers together.  The warm, calloused skin against Phil’s palm was wonderfully familiar.  “You’ll figure it out, Detective,” Clint said.

“ _We_ will figure it out,” Phil corrected.  “We’re partners.”

Clint’s smile was soft and almost boyish, with none of the sharp edges he usually had.  “Well, then,” he said.  “Aside from Captain Blonsky, who I think is up to his neck in something, who are our suspects for Killian’s murder?”

Phil let out a breath.  Killian had not been a nice man, which left them with far too many suspects now.  “There’s Killian’s aide, Mr Eric Savin, who was with him in the library.  Captain Blonsky, of course.  Killian and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes didn’t like each other either, so Rhodes has a motive.”

Clint frowned.  “Because he disliked Killian?  Or because he was jealous of the way Killian was trying to seduce Pepper?”  He hummed thoughtfully and shook his head when Phil opened his mouth to answer.  “You don’t really think Rhodes is a murderer, do you?” Clint added.

Phil considered the question for a moment.  “Deep in my gut, no, I don’t,” he admitted.  “But there’s no evidence to rule him out.”

Clint reached up with his free hand to cup Phil’s cheek.  “Even if you can’t trust yourself right now, aren’t you supposed to be trusting me?”

Phil swallowed heavily, immediately reminded of their conversation by the fireplace.  Clint’s faith in him warmed his chest now as it had then.  “Help me find proof,” he said.  “Please.  So I can go to Scotland Yard with more than just a gut feeling.”

Clint nodded.  “I’ve got your back, Phil,” he whispered.  He glanced back towards the library, and then to Phil.  “What about Pepper herself?  Or Stark or Dr Banner?”

“We can’t rule any of them out as suspects, either,” Phil replied.  “At least, not until we see the coroner’s report on Killian death.”  It was hard to suspect good people who were becoming friends, but Phil had learned the hard way that anyone could be guilty.  Assumptions never ended well on a case.  “We also don’t know if Killian’s death is connected to Stark’s accidents.”

“You think Killian’s murder was a crime of opportunity?” Clint asked.  

Phil frowned.  “I’m not sure,” he admitted.  “I can’t help but feeling that there’s more to this case than what we’re seeing.”

Clint smirked.  “Then it sounds like we have a few things to find out,” he said.  “Come on, Detective.  Let’s go find some clues.”

~*~


	7. Scotland Yard Arrives

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 16th, 1934_

The detective from Scotland Yard arrived just before lunch.  Jarvis and Pepper went out to greet him, Clint and Phil following behind.  Phil was strangely subdued, and Clint wondered what was concerning him.  No doubt it had something to do with Scotland Yard.  Phil had a history there.  Caught up in his thoughts of Phil and the case, Clint blinked when he saw Detective Inspector Jasper Sitwell.  Even more surprising was the hand Sitwell was offering to help a very familiar blonde out of their motorcar.  “Bobbi?” Clint said incredulously.

Barbara Morse turned her head.  Lips the same shade of red as her hat curved up into a smile.  “Clinton,” she greeted warmly, her blue eyes dancing.

“You’ve met Bobbi?” Phil asked quietly from beside Clint.

Clint turned back to Phil and opened his mouth, but no words came out.  In the past, he wouldn’t have hesitated, but right now it seemed a little crass to introduce a former lover to the current one.  Although, Bobbi had always been so much more than just a lover.  She was the only woman aside from Natasha he’d ever been tempted to marry.  Not that Phil was just a lover either.  Clint was pretty sure he really would marry Phil if it hadn’t been completely illegal.

Phil raised an eyebrow.  “I’m going to take that as a yes,” he said.

Clint sort of nodded, distracted by the way Phil turned to Bobbi with a wide, warm smile.  “Hello, Bobbi,” he greeted.

“Phil,” Bobbi replied, stepping forward to  pull Phil into a tight hug.  “It’s been far too long.”

Clint gaped.  What?  “How do _you_ know Bobbi?” he asked.

Bobbi pulled back enough to look at Clint, amusement clear across her face.  With a frown, Clint noted that she kept her arm curled around Phil’s.  The crinkles at the corners of Phil’s eyes deepened as he watched Clint with a warm gaze.  “Bobbi is my old partner from my spy-hunting days,” he said.

Clint felt both of his eyebrows rise.  Phil had told him very little of what he’d seen during the War.  It may have had something to do with the Official Secrets Act, or it could just have been Phil’s natural reluctance at sharing his vulnerabilities.  Either way, it shouldn’t have been such a surprise that Phil was secretly dangerous.  Bobbi did not tolerate fools.  If she’d been Phil’s partner, Phil had seen some perilous things.  Clint still had the scars from what he, Natasha and Bobbi had escaped from in Budapest.

Bobbi chuckled.  “I think he’s speechless,” she said.

Clint cleared his throat.  “No,” he denied.  “I’m just rearranging a few things in my mind.”  He eyed both Bobbi and Phil.  “You’ll have to tell me all about it later.”

“We will,” Phil said with the trace of a smile.  “I promise.”

Bobbi’s face turned grim.  “Before we get caught up in everything else, Phil, I need to tell you about Dr Hansen,” she said.

Phil nodded, the muscle in his jaw clenching.  “Did you ever find out what happened to her?”

“Yes,” Bobbi said quietly.  “I did.  She’s safe, but in hiding.”

Phil raised both his eyebrows.  “Well, that’s a relief,” he said.  

His gaze then drifted over Clint’s shoulder.  Clint turned to find Detective Inspector Sitwell watching them all with a scowl.  Pepper and Jarvis stood beside him.  “Detective Inspector,” Phil greeted.

“Detective,” Sitwell replied.  His eyes flicked to Clint.  “Mr Barton.”

Clint arched an eyebrow because Sitwell did not seem happy to see anyone.  Considering Sitwell had been forced to drive all the way from London that morning, perhaps his ill temper wasn’t just due to the company.

“Shall we go inside?” Pepper said.  “I can have Jarvis bring through a pot of tea or coffee, if you’d like Detective Inspector?”

Sitwell’s shoulders relaxed a little.  “Thank you, Miss Potts,” he replied.  “That would be wonderful.”

~*~

A little after Jasper’s arrival, Phil found himself back in the library.  Bobbi had accompanied them, not even pausing at the threshold.  The constable on guard had watched her with wide-eyed surprise.  As soon as Jasper had firmly shut the door, Bobbi had promptly disappeared out of the window.  As the rest of them weren’t quite so adventurous, they’d remained inside the library.  So far, Jasper hadn’t found anything Clint or Phil hadn’t seen earlier.  All the same, the way Jasper was sipping coffee while crouched in front of the body was making Phil’s stomach turn.  “Well, we’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report to be certain,” Jasper said, rising to his feet.  “But I think we can assume the cause of death is strangulation.  And with great force, too.”

“It’s hard to imagine a single person could have caused so much damage,” Phil said softly.

“Someone had to,” Jasper replied bluntly, but his gaze was concerned behind his glasses.

Phil shot him a dry look.  One the other side of the room, Clint was scanning the library with his sharp gaze.  Phil walked over, wondering if Clint had spotted something, or if he was just avoiding Phil.  His palm itched to run a soothing hand down Clint’s arm, but he couldn’t do that in their present company.  “Are you all right?” he murmured.

Clint flashed him a tight smile.  “Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied.

Inwardly, Phil winced.  “I’m sorry I never mentioned Bobbi by name, Clint.  I had know idea you knew her, and…”  And Phil was still trying to protect his partner, even after so many years.  He just had no idea how to say that without it sounding like he didn’t trust Clint.

“I get it, Phil,” Clint said, his gaze wryly understanding.  “I didn’t exactly tell you about her yet, either.  Probably for the same reasons you didn’t tell me.”  He fell silent, his mouth twisting downwards.

Phil nodded, his eyes flicking towards Jasper.  “Now might not be the best time to discuss this, but…  Come to my room tonight.  I’ll answer any questions you have.”

Clint’s answering smile was small, but more relaxed than earlier.  “Just try to keep me away,” he murmured.

The drapes twitched for a moment, before Bobbi climbed back in the window.  She was wearing loose grey trousers, which made the task a little easier, but Phil still wasn’t sure how Bobbi did half the things she did, and in heels.  Smoothing down her jacket, Bobbi checked her neatly pinned hair and glanced at Phil.  “You’re right,” she said.  “The murderer didn’t enter from the woods on the edge of the property.  There are easier ways of killing someone.”

Phil’s mouth quirked into a small smile.  “I’m glad to see you still trust my assessment,” he said dryly.

Bobbi waved away his comment, her eyes teasing, but they turned serious as she focused on Jasper.  “How are we doing on fingerprints?” she asked.

“I was going to get the Sergeant to fingerprint the room when we were done,” Jasper replied.  “If you’ve climbed in enough windows and stopped contaminating things?”

Bobbi smirked.  “For now,” she replied.  She held up her hands, revealing fashionable leather gloves.  “And I didn’t contaminate anything.”

“Wonderful,” Jasper said dryly.

Phil hid a smile.  He’d missed Bobbi so much more than he’d realised.  Just listening to her familiar banter had a tendril of warmth curling through his chest.  Catching Phil looking, Bobbi flashed him a wink.  She was as irresistibly mischievous as Clint, and Phil could see why they’d been drawn to each other.  His stomach clenched with a pang of jealousy, even as Phil cursed himself for being ridiculous.  He had absolutely no reason to doubt Clint, and he refused to give in to his own insecurities.

“Did you look at any of the papers?” Jasper asked, indicating the scattered notes on the floor.

Phil shook his head.  “I didn’t want to disturb anything,” he replied.

Jasper nodded, and crouched down beside the biggest pile.  Pulling a pencil out of his jacket, he flipped over one of the papers so he could begin to read, coffee cup still held in his other hand.

“What I’m more interested in,” Bobbi said, “is this stain beneath the body."  She shifted so she could get a better view, crouching down where Jasper had been.  "It’s not blood, or anything else you’d expect.”  She dabbed one of her gloved fingers into it, and her hand came away wet.  “I’ll run some tests on it.  See what I can come up with.”

“That would be very appreciated, Agent Morse,” Jasper said with a wry smile.  “If it has anything to do with these notes, I have a feeling it might be beyond what the laboratories at Scotland Yard can deal with.”

Intrigued, Phil crossed the floor to see what Jasper had found.  Before he could ask, Jasper handed him the empty coffee cup so he could gesture with both hands.  “Whatever this is, it’s complicated.  From my limited understanding, it appears to be an attempt at some sort of scientific formula?”  He turned to Phil.  “I don’t suppose you recognise the handwriting?”

Phil shook his head.  “I’m afraid I don’t,” he replied.  “We could ask Stark?  See if he knows anything.”

“If it’s all right with the Detective Inspector, I’d like to have a look at them first,” Bobbi broke in.

Jasper raised both his eyebrows behind his glasses.  “You think it’s connected to the substance underneath the body?” he asked.

Nodding, Bobbi rose gracefully to her feet, now holding a vial with a thin layer of a thick, pale green substance at the bottom.  “It stands to reason, given the circumstances,” she said.

“That’s not the only thing we need to be looking at,” Clint said.

Phil turned to watch him, only to find Clint studying the room, his head cocked to the side.  A small frown pulled the edge of his mouth downwards, and he was clearly lost in thought.  Phil had worried Clint’s silence had to do with Bobbi, but he shouldn’t have underestimated Clint.  “What do you see?” he asked, following Clint’s gaze towards the bookshelf.

Clint blinked, turning to face everyone.  “When I first saw the library, I assumed that the papers had been scattered by a fight between Killian and whoever killed him.” He frowned again.  “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Why not?” Jasper asked curiously.

“Because those books are out of place on the bookshelf,” Clint replied quietly.  “There’s a bent page sticking out the top, as if someone crumpled it by slamming the book closes carelessly.  Not to mention the rumpled state of Killian’s clothes.”  He paused, turning to Phil.  “When we asked, no one heard any loud noises last night.  If this destruction was caused by a fight, you’d expect someone to have heard something.”

Phil nodded.  It made a lot of sense.  Both he and Clint had heard nothing last night that had aroused their suspicions.  Even preoccupied as they might have been.  “So then what was the murderer searching for?” he mused.

“That does appear to be the question,” Jasper said.  “It’s something small, if the murderer was searching inside books.  A letter, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Phil agreed.  “We should search Killian’s room as well.  If the murderer is looking for something, that might be their next stop.”

Looking grim, Jasper nodded.  He walked over to the library door to speak to the constable.  “Send Jenkins up to guard Killian’s room.  No one goes in without my approval,” he ordered.  After the constable nodded and rushed off, Jasper turned back.  “I’ll head there next to see if I can find anything.”

Phil nodded.  “Don’t forget about all the guests we have to question,” he said dryly.

Bobbi hid a smile, but a knock interrupted whatever she was about to say.  The constable poked his head inside the library.  “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but the ambulance is here to collect the body.”

Jasper nodded.  “Send them in, and then send the Sergeant in to fingerprint everything,” he ordered.

The constable nodded and disappeared with another hasty, “Yes, sir!”

Turning his attention back to Phil, Jasper frowned when Phil handed him back his empty coffee cup.  “Shall we go and question Mrs Davis?” Phil said mildly.

“Will you be sitting in on the interviews?” Jasper asked.

Instead of Jasper’s gaze being fixed on Phil as he’d expected, Phil was amused to find Jasper looking at Clint.  Clint seemed equally surprised, and blinked once before he smirked.  “If I may?” he replied mildly.

Jasper huffed.  “Well, I doubt I’ll be able to stop you,” he said.  The amusement in his eyes suggested he was teasing.  Mostly.

“Thank you, Detective Inspector,” Phil said dryly.  “That is very magnanimous of you.”

A small smile curved Jasper’s mouth.  “Right then,” he said, waving a hand towards the door.  “After you.”

Phil followed Jasper out of the library, Clint at his side, and turned towards the kitchens.  Near the front door, they found General Ross and Captain Blonsky, who appeared to be waiting for them.  The General’s gaze dismissively flicked over Phil and Bobbi, before settling on Jasper.

“Sir…” Jasper began, stepping forward.

Ross frowned.  “Is Scotland Yard suddenly letting secretaries participate in murder investigations?,” he said.

“No, sir,” Jasper said.  “Miss Morse…”

“Is just here to take the notes, sir,” Bobbi interrupted brightly.  Phil had seen her once use that same tone on a high ranking German officer, and things hadn’t ended well.  For the officer and for Phil, but that was mostly because of Bobbi’s accidental right hook.  “Just making sure everything is as efficient as possible.”

“Very well,” Ross said dismissively.  “I hope we can get this resolved as quickly as possible, Detective Inspector…?”

“Sitwell, sir,” Jasper replied, his jaw ticking.

Ross nodded shortly.  “Well, then.  The Captain and I are ready for your questions now, Detective Inspector.”

“Of course, sir,” Jasper agreed.

Ross turned, presumably heading upstairs to the Red Drawing Room where he’d set up his office.  Blonsky trailed behind him.  Jasper rolled his eyes at Phil, his jaw still clenched, but General Ross was hardly a man he could say no to.  “Phil…” he murmured.

Phil nodded.  “We’ll wait until you get back…” he said.

“No,” Jasper interrupted in a low voice with a small shake of his head.  “You should go and interview the housekeeper.  You can tell me about it when we search Killian’s room after I’m done with the General.”

“Certainly,” Phil replied.

Following Jasper’s gaze, Phil found Clint and Bobbi have a whispered conversation.  When Clint caught them looking, he glanced up with a sheepish smile.  “I guess this is the wrong time to mention I may have forgotten the small amount of shorthand I ever learnt?” Bobbi said quietly.

Clint snorted.  “Just write down something that looks like it.  I highly doubt Ross knows shorthand either.”

A loud clearing throat caught everyone’s attention.  They turned to see Captain Blonsky glaring imperiously down at them from the stairs.  “Detective Inspector,” he said.  “If you will.”

“Yes, sir,” Jasper said.

~*~

After Sitwell disappeared after Captain Blonsky, Clint turned to Phil.  “I do not envy Detective Inspector Sitwell right now,” he said.

Aside from his habit of sipping coffee while looking over a dead body, Sitwell was a good man.  It wasn’t hard to understand why Phil respected him so much.  Unlike their last meeting, Clint was enjoying the lack of underlying suspicion between himself and Sitwell.  It made for a nice change.

“I don’t either,” Phil agreed.

Turning, Phil let them both down a corridor to the right of the stairs.  The last anyone had seen of Mrs Davis, Jarvis had been leading her away for a small glass of brandy.  The kitchens would probably be the most logical place to find her.  As they got closer, Clint couldn’t help but hum happily.  The scent of freshly baking bread was getting stronger.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Phil’s quickly hidden smile and he raised both eyebrows in reply.

Phil opened his mouth, no doubt to offer some sort of comment on Clint’s eating habits.  Before he could speak, the sound of suddenly raised voices caught their attention.  Clint frowned as the voices cut off almost as soon as they started.  He was about to suggest to Phil that they investigate when footsteps started heading towards them.  Clint was immediately pulled sideways as Phil tugged him into the shadowy doorway of the pantry.  The pantry wasn’t small, but Phil still managed to somehow end up plastered against Clint’s chest from shoulder to thigh.  Not that Clint was complaining.  He smirked at Phil as Phil just rolled his eyes and shifted slightly, motioning for Clint to be quiet.

A few moments later, Mrs Davis rounded the corner from the kitchens.  She was scowling, her back stiff and her hands curled into fists.  This wasn’t the same shocked housekeeper who had found Killian’s body and almost fainted.  Clint frowned, Phil tensing beside him as Eric Savin appeared around the corner.  Savin grabbed Mrs Davis by the arm.  “Ellen, wait,” he hissed.

 _Ellen?_ Clint mouthed, his eyebrows rising.

“No,” Mrs Davis snapped.  “What were you thinking, Eric?  The police are all over this house!”

“And I didn’t get caught, did I?” Savin replied.

“You risked everything,” Mrs Davis shot back.

Savin snorted.  “Please.  Scotland Yard don’t know about us.  They have no idea what Killian was really up to,” he scoffed.  When Mrs Davis didn’t look placated, he stepped forward as his expression turned apologetic.  “I am sorry I didn’t talk to you first.  Forgive me?

Mrs Davis kept scowling, but her expression slowly softened.  “The formula is definitely safe?” she asked.

Savin smiled.  “I have it tucked away in my room where no one will find it.”

“Well,” Mrs Davis said, pulling Savin close again.  “I guess I will forgive you then.”

Still smiling, Savin leaned in for a kiss.  The move was familiar and truthfully, not something Clint was keen on witnessing.  Carefully, he withdrew deeper into the recesses of the pantry, pulling Phil with him.  He wondered if Phil had suspected that Mrs Davis was having an affair with Savin.  Unfortunately, hiding in the pantry wasn’t the best place for those kinds of discussions.

Phil shifted closer, but his movements seemed awkward and uncertain.  The light in the pantry was dim, but Clint could still see the way Phil hesitated.  Huffing, Clint grabbed Phil’s hand and curled their fingers together.  He was still a little unsettled from finding out the extent of Phil’s relationship with Bobbi.  It was probably because Bobbi appeared to know Phil better than even Sitwell.  Yet, Phil had never mentioned her name.  Clint had loved Bobbi, and still did, and he definitely loved Phil, and somehow he was having trouble reconciling those two things.  Even so, Clint wasn’t about to let that get between him and Phil.

Rolling his eyes at Phil’s continued stiffness, Clint leaned in.  “Relax,” he whispered in Phil’s ear.  “They’ll be gone soon enough.”

“I know,” Phil replied dryly.

Ignoring his shiver, Clint snorted.  “That’s not what you should be worried about, anyway,” he said.  He’d snuck into enough parties to be familiar with hiding in small, dark cupboards.  “I’m more concerned what will happen if they decide their rooms are too far away to continue their assignation.”

He smiled as Phil pressed closer, the tension leaving Phil as he relaxed into Clint’s touch.  One of Phil’s broad hands sliding underneath his jacket to rest at the small of his back.  “That sounds like the voice of experience,” Phil teased, his breath brushing against the skin of Clint’s neck.

Clint grinned into the darkness.  “I’m not sure if I should answer that,” he said.  His eyebrows rose a little as Phil pressed even closer, one of his legs slipping between Clint’s.  “Detective, are you trying to seduce me?”

“I’m merely taking advantage of circumstance,” Phil replied.

Before Clint could say anything else, Phil was shifting and warm lips brushed gently against his own.  The kiss started out soft, but like most kisses between them, it didn’t stay that way for long.  Mindful of their location, Clint still couldn’t stop himself from dragging Phil closer.  He slid his hands inside Phil’s jacket, wanting more.  Phil’s own hand shifted up Clint’s back until it rested between his shoulder-blades.  The solid heat of Phil was both familiar and exhilarating.  When Phil finally pulled back, Clint had to blink and clench his fingers into Phil’s jacket to stop himself yanking Phil back in.  “I think they’re gone now,” Phil whispered, not even breathless.

Clint glared, even though Phil probably wouldn’t see him in the dim light.  Phil turned to leave, but Clint was faster.  His hand snaked out to grab Phil around the waist and tug him backwards.  “I will be repaying you for that later,” he murmured right into Phil’s ear.  Then he slid around the Detective and headed back out into the corridor.

Phil’s eyes were dancing when he joined Clint.  “I’ll hold you to that promise,” he replied.

~*~

As Clint was Clint, they’d made a slight detour through the kitchens before emerging.  Clint had naturally discovered warm scones in the process.  He’d proceeded to liberate two with a generous helping of cream.  Now, he was licking the remnants from his fingers, and putting far too much effort into it, in Phil’s opinion.  “I feel as if I should offer you a handkerchief.  Or a bath,” Phil said dryly.

Clint shot him a sly, sidelong look.  “Are you sure that’s all you want to offer me, Phil?”

While Phil was very glad the quiet, uncertain Clint of earlier was gone, he could have done without Clint trying to be a menace.  “Right now, yes,” he replied.

Clint’s smirk only grew.  Thankfully, the arrival of Tony Stark interrupted Clint’s further attempts at seduction.  For once, Stark appeared to be coming down the stairs rather than inside from his laboratory.  His clothes weren’t as messy as usual, but his collar was rumpled and his tie was askew.  Tension was obvious in Stark’s shoulders, matching the tightness around his eyes.  Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes was beside him, dressed impeccably in a light grey suit.  Rhodes didn’t seem immune from the mood, and he flashed Phil a wry smile when Phil glanced towards him.

“Ah, Detective, there you are,” Stark said.  “We need to talk.”

Discreetly, Phil offered Clint his handkerchief as they followed Stark and Rhodes.  “What seems to be the trouble, Mr Stark?” Phil asked once the door to Stark’s office closed behind them.

“I need to ask you something, Coulson, and I need you to tell me the truth,” Stark said.  He faced the window, hands in his pockets and silhouetted against the garden beyond.  Stark cast a rather dramatic figure, but there was no disguising the almost brittleness of his posture.

“I shall do my best, Mr Stark,” Phil replied.

The unease in the room grew for a moment, before Stark let out a loud breath.  No one had taken a seat, but at Stark’s sigh, Rhodes shot him a concerned look before crossing to perch on the sofa. “Was Killian murdered because someone thought he was me?” Stark asked.

Phil blinked, suddenly understanding the strain running through both Stark and Rhodes.  “I cannot say with absolute certainty, but no.  I do not believe so,” he said.  “Nothing about Killian’s murder was designed to look like an accident.”

Stark let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes briefly.  “Thank God,” he breathed.  Then he seemed to realise what he’d said.  “Not for Killian’s death, I mean.  Just…”

“I understand,” Phil told him quietly.

“So, the person who _is_ trying to kill Tony is still out there, right?” Rhodes said, his dark eyes sharp.

“Rhodey…” Stark said, but the protest was weak.

“No, Tony,” Rhodes said.  “This is serious.  You could have been the one who’s dead right now.”

Stark snapped his mouth shut and subsided, his jaw clenching.  Rhodes seemed satisfied by that, and turned his gaze on Phil.  “I don’t suppose you’re any closer to finding out who’s behind the ‘accidents’, are you?” he asked.

“We’ve managed to exclude a few suspects,” Phil said mildly.

Stark snorted and sent him a dark look.  “That’s it?” he said.  “You’ve eliminated a few suspects?”

Phil fixed Stark with a level stare.  “All I have right now, Mr Stark, is a lot of speculation and very little evidence.  I can tell you who has a motive to do you harm, but I have no definitive proof as to who is actually out to hurt you.”

“What Phil means,” Clint drawled, moving to sprawl across one of the armchairs.  His expression had edged towards sardonic.  “Is that he’s got a better idea of who it is than you do, and you should let him work.”

“Well forgive me for being apprehensive about my life being on the line,” Stark snapped.

Instead of offering another sarcastic comment, Clint frowned at Stark’s words.  His eyes were narrowed, his impressive mind clearly latching onto something.  Nothing about what Stark had said seemed alarming to Phil, but he didn’t always see what Clint did.

“If you don’t mind me saying so,” Phil said, turning back to Stark.  “You didn’t seem so concerned yesterday.”

Stark’s jaw clenched again before he seemed to consciously relax.  “Yes, well…” he said, his eyes flicking away to the window.

“What Tony means,” Rhodes said, his entire face serious in a way Phil had never seen it.  “Is that yesterday he didn’t think he could actually get hurt.”

Stark turned back with a glare.  “I’m not going to hide every time some crazy person makes threats,” he snapped.

Rhodes glared back.  “This time is different, Tony,” he said.  “This crazy person has access to your house!”

“If I may?” Phil interrupted before the argument could get any more heated.  “As long as someone such as yourself, Lieutenant Colonel, stays close to Mr Stark, I do not believe he will be in any great danger.”

Rhodes considered that for a moment.  “Can you be sure of that?” he asked.

“The attempts have all been designed to look like accidents, right?” Clint said.  Phil was a little surprised because he’d thought Clint had been lost in thought.  He should have known better to assume Clint wasn’t aware of his surroundings.  “Whoever is behind them has made efforts to avoid an outright confrontation.  With Scotland Yard here investigating Killian’s murder, I doubt that's going to change.”

“See?” Stark said, raising his eyebrows at Rhodes.

Rhodes rolled his eyes and huffed, but he couldn’t quite hide the worried tension in his shoulders.

“ _Now_ will you let me enter the lab?” Stark demanded.  “I promise I won’t let anyone but you, Bruce or Pepper inside.  Bruce and I have things to do and physics to redefine.”

Rhodes sighed with exasperation, but the slight curl to his mouth proved it was mostly fond.  “Fine,” he agreed.  “Let’s go find Bruce, but I’m not leaving you alone this time.”

“I don’t need a nanny,” Stark grumbled, but nevertheless didn’t disappear out the door as Rhodes got to his feet.  He nodded to Phil and Clint.  “Detectives.”

“Mr Stark,” Phil replied as he too rose from where he’d taken the chair beside Clint’s.  “Just, before you leave, there was one more question I wanted to ask.”

“Need to question our whereabouts, Detective?” Stark drawled.

Phil smiled mildly.  “No.  I shall leave that for Scotland Yard,” he said.  “I wanted to ask your permission to share the details of why you invited Clint and myself to Hardwick Hall with the Detective Inspector.”

Stark blinked.  “I would have thought you’d already told him,” he said.

Phil shook his head.  “I won’t share anything you do not wish me to, Mr Stark.”

Stark’s eyes sharpened before he waved his hand airily.  “Share anything you think is relevant,” he said.  He hesitated, something in his expression almost flinching.  “And Maya?  She’s safe?”

“I thought Agent Morse had spoken to you?” Phil said, because he would have sworn he’s seen Bobbi take Stark aside.

“She did,” Stark said quietly.  “I just…”

“Dr Hansen is perfectly safe, Mr Stark,” Phil reassured him softly.  “You have my word.”

“Okay, then.”  His usual flamboyance returning, Stark turned to Rhodes, both eyebrows raised.  Rhodes rolled his eyes, but followed Stark as he left, both men falling to the familiar pattern of bickering.

Phil couldn’t stop the smile that curved his lips, because as irritating as Stark could be, he was also strangely entertaining.  In small doses, anyway.  Turning to Clint, Phil found him frowning thoughtfully again.  “What is it?” Phil asked.  “Have you cracked the case?”

“Maybe,” Clint replied.

Phil blinked.  He’d mostly been teasing, but if anyone could solve a case from one conversation, it was Clint.  Clint was a lot smarter than he let on, and he had a way of thinking that Phil doubted would ever stop being amazing.  “Oh?” he said.

“One thing has been nagging at me for the last two days,” Clint said quietly, walking over to Phil.  “It just didn’t make sense at all, regardless of any circumstances I could think of.”

“What didn’t make sense?” Phil asked, not quite following the thread of Clint’s thoughts.

“That damn string,” Clint muttered as he started to pace.  “I mean, why was it _there_?  Stark’s bedroom is on the second floor.  If someone wanted to harm him, there are better places to put a trap.”

Phil frowned.  Clint raised a good point.  “Are you saying that the accidents weren’t meant for Stark at all?” he asked.

Clint blew out a breath.  “It seems strange, doesn’t it?” he said.  “I mean, if it were me, I’d lay my trap somewhere I could guarantee Stark would go.  Not somewhere it would be equally likely someone else would trip over it.”  He frowned.  “Maybe we’re all thinking about this the wrong way.”

Phil raised both his eyebrows.  “Wrong how?” he asked quietly.

“Well, the first night we were here,” Clint continued, his eyes brightening as he talked.  “Stark fell down the stairs because of that string placed across the top.”  He barely waited for Phil to nod before he continued.  “Why?  I mean, why did whoever it was put it _there_?”  Phil blinked, beginning to follow the train of Clint’s thoughts.  “Stark’s bedroom is on the second floor, not the first.  If they were trying to catch Stark why put the string there at all?  There had to be a better place.”

“Unless, of course, the intended victim is not Stark at all,” Phil finished.  “Clint, that’s brilliant.”

Clint smirked, but Phil wasn’t deterred from his train of thought.  “If Stark wasn’t the intended target of these ‘accidents’, who was?” he mused.

“It’s doubtful it’s one of us,” Clint said.  “We were present for the stairs, but not for any of the other ‘accidents’.  Which leaves only Dr Banner or Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes.  All the others have bedrooms on a different floor, or the other side of the house.”

Phil nodded.  Clint was right.  The only people certain to use those stairs were Clint, himself, Banner and Rhodes.  The timing was also suspicious -- everyone had been dressing for dinner.  Phil would bet Stark wasn’t supposed to have been there at all.  “We need to talk to Stark,” he said.  “We need to find out who else was there when these ‘accidents’ happened.”

Clint smiled wryly.  “Of course.  We should warn Bobbi and Detective Inspector Sitwell too,” he said.  He glanced after where Stark and Rhodes had disappeared.  “Are you certain that whoever it is won’t try again?”

Phil let out a sigh.  “No,” he said.  “So we need to find them before they try again.”

~*~

 


	8. The Case Gets Complicated

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 16th, 1934_

After Stark and Rhodes left, Clint and Phil found themselves at a bit of a loose end.  Phil wanted to wait until he had a chance to tell Sitwell of the conversation they’d overheard, and Bobbi and Sitwell were still upstairs.  Clint followed Phil as he left the study, but he found himself strangely restless.  Since he had little better to do, Clint slipped outside.  Phil’s lips had twisted into a knowing smile, but Clint had just rolled his eyes.  He headed out to stroll along the lawn near Stark’s laboratory.  It wasn’t guard duty, exactly, but it made Clint feel better to be keeping watch.

In the end, he only paced across the lawn once, cigarette absently held in his left hand.  When he turned, he found Kate watching him with both eyebrows raised.  Clint blinked a little because Kate appeared to have come from the direction of the house.  “Good afternoon, Miss Bishop,” he greeted, hastily stubbing out his cigarette.

Instead of rolling her eyes or scoffing the way she usually did when Clint tried to use his manners, Kate just frowned.  “Is it true?” she asked.  Her face was pale and her hair wasn’t as neatly pinned as usual.

Clint eyed her carefully.  “Do you mean the murder?” he said.

Kate nodded.  “Someone is really dead?”  She wrapped her arms around her stomach.

Clint was reminded that Kate was younger than she sometimes acted.  He nodded.  “Yes.  I’m afraid so.”

Kate bit her lip.  “And it’s not Stark or Rhodes, is it?” she asked.  “Pepper called, because we were going to have tea…”

“No.”  Clint shook his head.  “I promise that Stark and Rhodes are safe in his laboratory.  You don’t need to worry.  Scotland Yard is on the case.”

“And you?”  Kate lifted her gaze to his.  “Are you investigating too?”

Clint nodded.  “I am.”  Part of Clint wanted to draw Kate into a hug, but he didn’t know if the gesture would be welcome.  “Scotland Yard is probably going to want to speak to you,” he told her gently.  “Since you were here yesterday.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Kate straightened her shoulders.  “Good,” she said.  “Right.”  She glanced away, her eyes searching the gardens.  “There’s something you should know first.”

Clint blinked, his stomach twisting.  “Did something happen?” he asked.

Kate frowned, and glared at Clint.  Clint made a face.  “I meant other than the murder,” he muttered.

“I don’t know,” Kate said softly.  “It’s just…  I kept an eye on Stark like you asked.”  She squared her shoulders, her voice getting stronger and her eyes sharper.  Clint was impressed.  Kate Bishop had guts.  “Killian was doing his usual thing, flirting with Pepper and insulting everyone else.  But, later, I overheard him talking to his aide, Savin?  They were talking about some sort of shipment that was arriving at the docks.  It seemed pretty important.”

Clint bit back a curse.  That answered the question as to whether Killian was involved with the Triad.  It also raised more than a few questions about the formula Savin had stolen and Mrs Davis’ involvement.  “I don’t suppose either Killian or Savin mentioned the ‘Ten Rings’, did they?”

Kate’s frown deepened.  “No, the shipment definitely wasn’t jewellery,” she said.  Then she blinked.  “Wait.  They did mention it.  Ten Rings is the name of a gang, isn’t it?”

Clint nodded.  “It is,” he agreed.

Sucking in a deep breath, Kate looked him straight in the eye.  “And Killian’s involved with whoever they are?” she said.

Swallowing, Clint wasn’t sure how to say what he had to.  Ultimately though, Kate would appreciate the truth, so he went with that.  “Killian was the one who was murdered,” he said.

Kate paled.  Clint stepped forward and offered her his arm, in case she wanted a little comfort.  Kate wrapped her own arm around Clint’s gratefully.  “Come on,” Clint said softly.  “Let’s go get you a cup of tea.”

Kate shot him a sharp look.  “I’m not a fainting maiden,” she snapped.

Clint shot her a sidelong look.  “I know,” he said, “but tea cups make it easier to hide the alcohol.”

Blinking, Kate was silent for a beat.  “Well, there is that I suppose,” she said.

“You sound sceptical,” Clint replied, beginning to head in the direction of the kitchens.

“I’m more concerned by your habits, Hawkeye,” Kate drawled, starting to sound more like her usual sarcastic self.  “Drinking out of tea cups instead of cocktail glasses is hardly reputable.”

Clint shrugged.  “Well, I am a scoundrel.”

The kitchens were empty when they snuck in, but it didn’t take Clint long to find a teapot and a kettle.  “Tea or coffee?” he offered as he put the water on to boil.

“Coffee,” Kate replied.  “Stark always has the good stuff.  And it’ll taste better if you insist on doctoring it.”

Clint hid a smile and did as instructed.  Once the coffee had brewed, Clint poured them both a cup, adding a generous splash of whiskey from his personal flask to each.  He hoped Kate didn’t mind cheap spirits.  It was one of the few things aside from archery that he’d retained from his time in the circus.  Kate raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.  Although, she did grimace at her first sip.

Rolling his eyes, Clint fetched the cream from the refrigerator.  “Here,” he said.

“Thanks,” Kate replied.

She added a spoonful of cream and took another sip.  This time, she grimaced less, so Clint was guessing there was an improvement.  Kate stared at her coffee for a minute, and Clint waited her out.  Whatever she wanted to say, she’d say in her own time.

“So, do you know who did it?” Kate asked finally.

“Not yet,” Clint told her, because they hadn’t exactly narrowed down the suspects yet.  Killian had made more than a few enemies.

“But you do have suspects?” Kate pressed.  “That’s how these things work, isn’t it?”

Frowning, Clint studied her, but Kate didn’t appear overly scared.  She wasn’t fishing for reassurance, unless she was hiding it very well.  “We have suspects,” Clint agreed.  “Why do you ask?”

Kate let out a breath.  “When I was keeping an eye on everyone for you, some things didn’t make sense,” she said.  “I know I joked when we met that nothing ever happens in Derbyshire, but that’s not really true, is it?  I just didn’t see it before now.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Clint began, but Kate cut him off angrily, her eyes flashing.

“Why, because I’m too young and stupid to pay attention to adult things?” she snapped.

Inwardly, Clint winced.  He’d clearly hit on a nerve he hadn’t intended to push.  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.

“Good,” Kate said, still scowling at him.  “And I’m not blaming myself.  I’m not just going to sit by and do nothing either while there’s a murderer on the loose.”  She let out a slow breath and scrunched up her nose a little.  “There’s something else you should know, too.  I don’t know if it’s relevant, but…”

“What is it?” Clint prodded gently when she fell silent again.

“It was Captain Blonsky,” Kate told him.  “Last night, I overheard him asking Jarvis if there would be mushroom soup for dinner tonight.  He seemed really persistent about it.  It was strange, because I thought Bruce was the only vegetarian in our little group.”

Clint blinked, and filed that piece of information away.  It might not have been proof of guilt, but as far as Clint was concerned, Blonsky was definitely up to something.  The only question that remained was whether Blonsky was behind the ‘accidents’ -- or Killian’s murder.

“That’s not really helpful, is it?” Kate said, interrupting Clint’s thoughts.

“Actually, it’s probably more helpful than you think,” Clint countered.  He frowned.  “I just don’t know how exactly yet.”

Kate looked amused, but before she could say anything, Phil entered the kitchens.  As always, Phil’s sharp blue-grey gaze softened slightly when it rested on Clint.  “My apologies for interrupting, but Detective Inspector Sitwell wants to see us, Clint.”

“It’s fine,” Kate said as she stood.  “I was going to go and find Pepper anyway.”  She glanced at Clint.  “I’ll let you know if I see anything else.”

Fixing a smirk on his face, Clint rose too.  “Thank you, Hawkeye.  Just…”  He let his expression sober.  “Please be careful.”

Kate nodded.  “You too.”

~*~

Phil glanced towards Clint as he led the way towards Stark’s study where Jasper and Bobbi were waiting.  Clint was pensive beside him, a frown on his face.  “Is everything all right, Clint?” Phil asked quietly.

Clint blinked, rousing from his thoughts.  “Sorry, yes,” he said, attempting a smile.  “I’m just trying to make sense of something Kate told me.”

“Oh?” Phil said.  Miss Bishop was a very intelligent young woman, and Phil didn’t doubt that she’d picked up on some of the things going on in the house.

“She told me that last night, Blonsky was asking about mushroom soup being on the menu for dinner,” Clint said.  “It seems a very strange detail to be so insistent about.”  He blinked, glancing at Phil.  “Unless it’s for the General?  Something to do with the pills he was taking?”

Phil frowned.  “It’s possible,” he replied.

Clint smirked.  “I know that face.  You’re figuring things out.  You’ll have this solved by the morning.”

Phil arched an eyebrow, but he had no doubt Clint would also see his amusement.  “Not if you solve it first,” he replied.

Knocking on the open door to Stark’s study, Phil ignored Clint huff of laughter.  Jasper waved them both into the room, still on the telephone.  Phil could tell by Jasper’s expression he was not enjoying the conversation.  Next to him, Bobbi had taken over the rest of Stark’s desk and appeared to be going over the notes they’d found in the library.  As Phil and Clint entered, she looked up and smiled.

“Yes, sir.  I’ll report in again as soon as I have anything,” Jasper said.  He hung up the telephone with a little more force than necessary, before letting out a long sigh.  Reaching up, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  “All right, Coulson.  Let’s start at the beginning of this mess.  What brings you to Hardwick Hall?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil saw Clint glance at him.  Phil trusted Jasper and Bobbi, but it made warmth curl through his chest that Clint was so willing to follow his lead.  “Stark invited us,” he answered.  “He asked us to look into something discreetly for him.”

Jasper eyed him.  “Something serious enough to call on your contacts at the War Office?”

“Maybe,” Phil conceded.  “You’ll have to ask Bobbi for more details.  I asked her to look into the disappearance of Dr Maya Hansen.  Stark is worried.  It normally wouldn’t have alarmed him, but before she did, she mailed him her research notes.”

Bobbi glanced up sharply.  “She did?”

Phil nodded, letting out a breath.  “Yes,” he said.  He crossed to sit on one of the sofas, because he had a feeling Bobbi’s news wouldn’t end there.

“So what’s the bad news?” Clint asked, a twist to his lips as he leaned against the fireplace.

“The Ten Rings Triad might be involved,” Bobbi replied dryly as she moved to sit down opposite Phil.

Jasper cursed and Phil could agree with the sentiment.  “We just can’t seem to get away from those guys, can we?” Clint drawled as Phil glanced over.

“Do I want to know how this is involved with our case?” Jasper asked sourly.

Bobbi smiled wryly.  “Dr Hansen became concerned after a break in at her laboratory.  The thief stole some of her notes on the formula she was working on.  She was scared that whoever it was would try again.”

Phil frowned.  That fit in with what they’d already learned, but he couldn’t help feeling there was something else.  He wasn’t the only one, either.  Clint’s gaze had sharpened and he was studying Bobbi carefully.  “And she thinks the thief was working for the Ten Rings,” he said.

Bobbi nodded grimly.  “She does,” she agreed.  “The notes the thief stole weren’t Dr Hansen’s most recent work.  She’d been carrying those on her.  However, Dr Hansen is concerned that when the Ten Rings discover that, they’ll want to kidnap her -- or worse.”

“They may already have the formula they were looking for,” Phil said.  Dread curled through his stomach.  “Stark read through the notes Dr Hansen sent him.  He discovered the last two pages in the book had been cut out with a knife.”

“Actually,” Bobbi said, “Dr Hansen cut those out herself.  She wanted someone else to have her research in case the Ten Rings caught up with her.  Only, I don’t think she entirely trusts Stark, so she kept the final formula to herself.”  Bobbi smirked.  “She mentioned something about his ego, and not being sure what he’d do.”

Phil let out a breath, relaxing a fraction.  At least with Dr Hansen still in possession of her formula, that was one less thing to worry about.

Jasper moved to slump into an armchair.  “Let me get this straight,” he said.  “Dr Hansen thinks the Ten Rings Triad tried to steal her formula, so she takes the only copy and disappears.  Just in case, she mails her notes to Stark, who now may or may not have someone trying to kill him.  And last night, Aldrich Killian was murdered while apparently reading a lot of complicated scientific notes?”

Phil nodded.  “I think that summarises things quite nicely,” he said.

Jasper shot him a dark look.  “Anything else you’d like to tell me?” he asked archly.

Phil took a deep breath and nodded.  “Clint and I didn’t manage to talk to Mrs Davis,” he admitted.

Jasper frowned.  “Why not?” he asked.

“Because she was already having an incriminating conversation with Eric Savin, so we decided to hide in the pantry and eavesdrop,” Clint said dryly.  He smirked when Phil sent him a look.

Smiling, Bobbi watched them both, but Phil did his best to ignore her amusement.  It was only a matter of time before Bobbi started asking questions, anyway.  She already suspected there was more between Phil and Clint than friendship.  Phil had no secrets from her, not after everything they’d been through.

“What kind of incriminating conversation?” Jasper said, looking between Clint and Phil.

“It seems Savin and Mrs Davis are having an affair,” Phil explained.  “But there’s more to it than that.  Savin talked about hiding a formula in his room.”

“A formula?” Jasper said.  “You think it’s the formula stolen from Dr Hansen?”

Bobbi frowned.  “That does explain why Killian’s clothes were out of place,” she mused.  Rising to her feet, she started to pace.  As she passed the desk, she picked up a pen to twirl through her fingers as she thought.  “If it is Dr Hansen’s research, that means Killian had links to the Ten Rings Triad.”

Jasper turned to her.  “You don’t think Killian’s clothes were messed up in the fight with his killer?”

Bobbi shook her head.  “Barton’s right.  I don’t think it was much of a struggle.  Whoever murdered Killian overpowered him quickly,” she said, her tone almost absent.  “Besides, the left side of his jacket was folded back, but not the right.  Like someone was searching inside a pocket.”

Jasper blew out a breath.  “And you think it was the housekeeper looking for the formula?” he said.

“She didn’t seem to know Savin was going to search Killian’s room for it,” Clint said.  “Or that Killian was keeping it on his room instead of on his person.”

“So what the hell does this formula do?” Jasper grumbled.

“I’m not sure,” Bobbi replied.  “I’d have to run some tests.  These notes are… complicated, to say the least.  It’s not just what Dr Hansen was working on, either.  There are some aspects of gamma radiation research.”  She tapped the pen thoughtfully against her palm.  “The notes actually manage to explain a lot, but the effects appear very complicated.  Enough that I really would prefer to run my own tests.  Unfortunately, if anyone sees me going in and out of Stark’s laboratory, it will raise a lot of questions we don’t want asked yet.”

Phil arched his own eyebrow.  “Since when has that stopped you from doing anything?”

Clint snorted.  “I’ll say,” he agreed.  “I’ve seen you do terrifying things with the things you find in a kitchen.”

Jasper glanced between them all before focusing on Bobbi.  “What exactly do the notes say the formula can do?”

Bobbi let out a breath.  “From what I can tell?” she said.  “The formula can potentially unlock metabolic function in a person.  It allows them greater strength and much better healing abilities than normal.”

Clint frowned.  “So if someone drank that formula they’d end up stronger and better at healing injuries than a normal person?” he muttered.  “Is anyone else thinking of how Killian was killed right now?”

“It does seem that a murderer with greater strength is who we are looking for,” Phil said grimly.

“What we really need to do, is get into Savin’s room and find that formula,” Jasper said.

Bobbi nodded.  “We can’t just search it,” she said.  “We can’t risk Savin finding out we know what he’s up to.”

“So, we distract him before we search it,” Clint said.

Blinking, Phil regarded him for a moment.  Clint stared right back, the light of challenge in his eyes.  “You just want to break into Savin’s room,” Phil said.

Clint smirked.  “Can you think of a better way to get our hands on the formula without Savin knowing?” he replied.

“It could work,” Bobbi agreed.  “Scotland Yard still needs to officially question Savin about the murder.  That should give Clint and I enough to sneak in and search his room.”

Jasper frowned, before he turned to Phil and huffed.  “I really dont want to know the details of what you used to do for Fury, do I?”

Bobbi flashed Phil a smile.  “All you need to know is Phil was damn good at it,” she said.

Jasper sighed.  “Right.  I still have a house full of people to question,” he said.  “We should interview the housekeeper at the same time, because she found the body.  We can distract Savin after that.”  He glanced at Bobbi.  “How long do you think you’ll need?”

Bobbi raised both eyebrows at Clint, who shrugged.  “It depends how hard the formula is to find,” he said.

Jasper nodded.  “We can hold the interviews in here, at least.”

A knock at the door interrupted their discussion.  “Enter,” Jasper called out.

When the door opened, Jarvis walked in holding a large tray laden with sandwiches and fruit.  “Forgive the interruption, sirs, Miss Morse,” he said.  “I thought you might be hungry.”

Behind him, Happy walked in holding another large tray, this one holding what looked like two pots of tea and coffee.

Jasper smiled rather like a schoolboy being presented with sweets.  “Oh, all is forgiven,” he said, eyeing the sandwiches.

As Jarvis spoke, Phil crossed the room towards the tea tray Happy had set down.  Clint turned as he did, holding out a coffee cup before Phil could even ask for one.  Smiling, Phil accepted it.  “Thank you,” he said softly.

Clint smiled back.  “You’re welcome,” he replied, turning to pour his own.

Amused, Bobbi shook her head.  Then she turned to Jarvis and Happy.  “While you’re here, gentlemen, would you mind answering a few questions?” she asked.

“Of course,” Jarvis replied, and motioned for Happy to shut the door.

“Well,” Jasper said, hurriedly chewing the sandwich he’d already half devoured.  “Let’s start with dinner last night.  Where did both of you go afterwards?”

Jarvis smiled faintly.  “I’m afraid I may not be able to help you with your investigations that much, Detective Inspector,” he said.  “After dinner, I performed my usual duties.  Including clearing the dining room with Mrs Davis’ help.  Mr Stark prefers to only keep a small staff and there is always plenty of work to do.”

“And after that?” Phil asked.

“I retired to my room,” Jarvis replied.  “To read.  Mr Stark installed a system that lets me know directly if he needs anything.”

“I’ll bet Jarvis regrets that sometimes,” Clint muttered to Phil in a low voice, and Phil had to fight a smile.

“And you, Mr Hogan?” Jasper said.

“I was in the garage most of the evening,” Happy answered.  “Mr Stark had a small accident on the way up to Hardwick Hall in the Cord L-29 Speedster he likes.  I’ve been trying to fix it.”

Bobbi’s gaze narrowed, her back straightening a fraction.  “You are?” she prompted mildly.

Happy frowned.  “Yes, and it’s strange.  When I was going over things, I found a small nick in the brake lines.  It could be nothing, but I can’t shake the feeling that cut was made deliberately.”

“Deliberately?” Jasper echoed, his eyes sharp behind his glasses.

“Yes, sir,” Happy answered.  “It was just as well Dr Banner wasn’t in the car too, but he stayed back in London.  He was supposed to come up with Mr Stark, but he ended up getting the train with Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes in the morning instead.”

Jasper hummed thoughtfully.  “Have either of you noticed anything strange going on in the house over the last few days?” he asked.

“Aside from the accidents, you mean?” Jarvis replied dryly.

Happy frowned thoughtfully.  “Well, there was that thing with Mrs Davis and Mr Killian’s aide,” he said.  “It didn’t take them long to start stealing more than just glances, if you know what I mean.”

“You disapprove?” Phil said.

“It was more the speed of it which was odd,” Happy replied.  “It all happened in about two days.  Except Mrs Davis told me she’d never met Mr Savin before in her life.”

“I’ve caught her coming out of Mr Savin’s room myself,” Jarvis confirmed.  “But I’m not sure that means she had anything to do with what happened to Mr Killian.”

Jasper nodded, his face carefully blank.  “Thank you,” he said.  “That’s all the questions for now.”

Jarvis inclined his head, and politely withdrew, Happy trailing behind him.  Jasper waited until the door was shut again behind them, before blowing out a breath.  “Well, what do you think?” he asked Phil, even as he reached for another sandwich.

Phil frowned.  “It does seem like Mr Savin and the housekeeper, Mrs Davis, know more than they’re sharing,” he said.  “And Savin did have opportunity.  We all saw him and Killian retreat to the library after dinner last night.”

“But?” Bobbi prompted when Phil paused.

Phil sent her an amused glance.  “But why not try to steal the formula then if they killed him?” he said.  “Mrs Davis only searched the body this morning.  Presumably, that’s when Savin searched Killian’s room, too.”

“Maybe they forgot?” Jasper suggested, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“I think we definitely need to ask Mrs Davis a few questions,” Bobbi said.  “But if she and Savin weren’t involved in the murder, who was?”

“It might be faster to try and guess who wasn’t,” Clint replied dryly.  “I’m not sure there’s anyone in this house who _doesn’t_ have an opportunity.”

Jasper sighed.  “I guess we’re back to questioning the rest of the guests, then,” he said.

Phil took a sip of coffee.  “Did you find out anything from General Ross and Captain Blonsky?” he asked.

Jasper shook his head.  “Not much,” he replied.  “After dinner, they retired early to the Red Drawing Room, where they discussed something classified I’m not allowed to know about.  Not long after that, they both went to bed, although neither could give me an exact time.”

“Well, Captain Blonsky at least, is lying,” Clint said.  He crossed over to pour himself another cup of coffee, glancing over his shoulder at Jasper.  “I saw Blonsky sneaking out of the house last night, just after eleven o’clock.  He didn’t slip back inside until a little before dawn.”

“I’m not going to ask how you knew that,” Jasper said dryly.  “But that does give the Captain opportunity.  What about motive?”

“Nothing that we can find out,” Phil said.  “I’m not sure Blonsky and Killian had ever met before this weekend.”

Clint walked over with a plate of sandwiches, which he set down next to Jasper.  Phil had to bite back a smile as Jasper flicked a widening gaze between Clint and the food.  Despite his reputation as a scoundrel, Clint had a carefully hidden nurturing side.  It was heartening to see Jasper slowly being included inside that circle of trust.  Smirking, Clint sat down beside Phil on the sofa, stretching out into the sprawl that was his habit.  If his fingers happened to brush Phil's shoulder, no one said anything.  “That, however, is not the most concerning thing going on in this house,” he said.

“And what have you gotten yourself into this time, Phil?” Bobbi asked, an undercurrent of amusement threaded through her voice.

“So far, mostly just attempted murder,” Clint told her.  He made a face, a shiver travelling down his spine at what had happened to Killian.  “Well, it’s actual murder now, isn’t it?”

“Someone was trying to murder Killian?” Jasper asked, his eyes sharp.

Phil frowned.  “We don’t think so,” he said.  “At first, we believed Stark was the intended victim.”

“But you don’t any more,” Bobbi finished.  It wasn’t a question.

Jasper sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw.  “So who do you think _is_ the intended target?” he asked.

“We’re not sure,” Phil said.  “But our best guess is either Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes or Doctor Banner.”

Jasper huffed.  “Nothing is ever simple with you, is it?” he said.

Bobbi gazed around the library.  “And you think Killian’s murder was a case of mistaken identity?”

“It’s a possibility, but I don’t think so, no.”  Phil glanced between Bobbi and Jasper, and sighed.  “The attempts have all been designed to look like accidents.  This very clearly wasn’t.”  Carefully, Phil explained everything that had happened since he and Clint had arrived at Hardwick Hall.  “That’s not all,” he added grimly.  “There’s at least one member of the Ten Rings staying in the village.  Savin met him at the hotel yesterday.  I saw his tattoo.  Savin referred to him as Jack, but I didn’t recognise him.”

“That would be Jack Taggert,” Bobbi said.  “He’s a low level thug known to run messages.”

“Wonderful,” Jasper muttered.

Phil blinked.  “You saw him?”

Bobbi shook her head, another wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.  “No.  Taggert is the only known member who goes by the name Jack.”  At Phil’s pointed look, she shrugged gracefully.  “When I heard the Ten Rings might be involved, I did my homework,” she explained.  “Besides, when my old partner decides to take on a Triad, I start learning names.”

“In his defence,” Clint said, “they messed with us first.”

“I’m not sure they’ll remember it that way,” Bobbi said dryly.

“Great,” Jasper muttered.  “I love complicated cases.”

Phil hid a smile at Jasper’s familiar grumbling.  He always professed to hating convoluted investigations, but he was an expert at unlocking them.  “At least there’s no missing diamond this time,” Phil told him mildly.

Jasper shot him a glare.  “No, just an irritated Army General who’s probably on the telephone to my superiors right now,” he replied.

“We’ll figure it out,” Phil reassured him.  “We always do.”

“I hope you’re right,” Jasper replied.

~*~

“So,” Bobbi said quietly.  She paused to peer around the corner at Savin’s room before turning back to Clint.  “How did you meet Phil?”

Clint would have rolled his eyes at her, but he was keeping watch.   After lunch, he and Bobbi had hidden just down the corridor from Savin’s room.  Jarvis had delivered the message from Sitwell, but so far Savin had remained in his room.  “We met about two months ago,” Clint told her.  “At the Savoy in London.  He was there for dinner, but we didn’t officially get introduced until he interviewed me about the murder.”

The corner of Bobbi’s mouth curved up into a smirk.  “The case with the missing diamond?” she said.

“Yeah,” Clint replied.  He frowned in the direction of Savin’s door.  What was Savin doing in there?

“You work fast, Barton,” Bobbi murmured.

Clint shot her a sharp glare, just for a second.  “It’s not like that,” he hissed.  “ _Phil’s_ not like that.  Which you should know.”

“I do,” Bobbi agreed, her whole tone changing.  Out of the corner of his gaze, Clint saw her face lose its teasing expression.  “Which does make me wonder.”

Thankfully, they were interrupted by Savin’s door opening, and the man himself leaving.  Clint waited until Savin was halfway down the stairs before he crept out of his hiding place.  Bobbi was right on his heels, but she kept silent as Clint fished out his lockpicks.  It didn’t take Clint long to unlock the door, and he slipped inside.  Like Clint’s room, and Phil’s, the room was richly decorated.  The walls were a pale blue, matching the bed and armchairs sat in front of the empty fireplace.  When Bobbi simply followed him into the room and quietly shut the door behind her, Clint rolled his eyes.  “Shouldn’t somebody be keeping watch?” he whispered.

A hint of a smile curved Bobbi’s mouth.  “We’ll be fine,” she said.  “Phil and the Detective Inspector will keep Savin busy.”  She eyed him carefully.  “I’m more interested in your avoidance of my questions.”

Clint frowned.  “I’m not avoiding your questions,” he replied.  “I’m just not interested in you teasing me about this. There’s a difference.”

Bobbi blinked and raised both eyebrows.  “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” she said.

Turning to scan the room, Clint pointedly ignored her.  He wanted to say that he wasn’t aware of the reason Bobbi’s good-natured teasing was making him angry, but that would be a lie.  Clint knew exactly why, he just wasn’t ready to admit it out loud yet.  Bobbi stepped up beside him, one of her hands reaching out to curl around Clint’s forearm.  “I’m sorry, Clint,” she said softly.  “I’m happy for you.  Really.”

Glancing at her, Clint let out a breath as the tension dropped from his shoulders.  “Yeah, sorry,” he replied.

Bobbi smiled.  “I know,” she said.  “I remember how you get when feelings are involved.”

Huffing, Clint rolled his eyes again.  “So, if you’d just stolen a scientific formula, where would you hide it?” he asked, not even trying to be subtle as he changed the subject.

Glancing around the room, Bobbi frowned thoughtfully.  “Well, probably not underneath the mattress,” she said.  “Savin would want it to be close at hand in case he needs to grab it, but not somewhere where someone else must stumble across it.”  Cocking her head to the side, Bobbi smiled and turned mischievous eyes towards Clint.  “Maybe inside a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets?  Savin doesn’t strike me as a man who enjoys reading poetry.”

The leather-bound book was half-hidden on the dresser in the corner of the room.  Not obvious, but not in plain sight either.  “I think you might be right,” Clint told Bobbi.

Walking over, Bobbi flipped open the book and pulled out a piece of folded paper.  She opened it, and nodded as she read the scrawled numbers and letters written on it.  Clint had never been particularly good at chemistry, and it mostly looked like gibberish to him.  “This is definitely the formula,” Bobbi said.

“You know,” Clint said, “I sort of expected it to be harder than this.”

Bobbi looked up with an arched eyebrow.  “In my experience, people are remarkably bad at hiding things they don’t want people to find,” she said.

Clint smirked.  “Would this be your spy hunting experience?” he asked.

“Maybe.”  Bobbi grinned as she tucked the formula inside her blouse.  “But I’m not always hunting spies, you know.”

With a wave, Clint gestured for Bobbi to leave first.  “Oh, I remember Budapest,” he said.

This time it was Bobbi’s turn to smirk.  “Budapest is hard to forget,” she agreed.

Carefully checking the corridor, they slipped out of Savin’s room as silently as they’d entered.  Thankfully no one was around to witness their more-than-suspicious behaviour.  Clint offered Bobbi his arm as they headed down the stairs, mostly just because he could.  “I doubt Phil and Detective Inspector Sitwell will be done questioning Savin yet,” he said.

“No,” Bobbi replied.  “Maybe we should…”

She trailed off as Mrs Davis came around the corner.  Something told Clint this was more than just Bobbi being worried about being overheard.  Mrs Davis smiled and nodded, her arms full of towels as she headed upstairs.  Clint nodded back, trying not to be concerned at the way Bobbi’s fingernails were suddenly digging into his arm.  As soon as Mrs Davis was out of sight again, he gently pulled Bobbi into a small alcove.  “Okay, what is it?” he asked in a low voice, unable to stop the way his heart beat faster, as if his body was bracing itself for a fight.

Bobbi’s face was pale, her eyes dark and surprisingly sharp as she looked at Clint.  “That was Mrs Davis?” she said.  “The housekeeper?”

Clint nodded.  “Yes, it was.”

Taking a deep breath, Bobbi nodded once.  “Then we have a bigger problem than we thought, because Mrs Davis is not who she says she is,” she said.

That wasn’t good, although Clint couldn’t say he was all that surprised.  Not after everything else going on at Hardwick Hall.  “So who is she?” he asked.

Bobbi glanced down the corridor in the direction that the housekeeper had gone.  “I can’t say for absolute certain, but I think I recognised her.  From the photographs of Ten Rings members that I studied before I came here.”  She straightened her shoulders, looking Clint directly in the eye.  “I think Mrs Davis is really Ellen Brandt, one of the high ranking members.  And possibly one of the few people who know the true identity of the Ten Rings’ leader.”

Clint cursed, closing his eyes for a moment.  “Savin called her Ellen.  In the conversation we overheard.”

As much as the Ten Rings were notorious for being involved in half the crime in London, they were even more infamous for the mystery surrounding their leader.  No one knew who he actually was, only that he called himself ‘the Mandarin’.  Anyone who tried to infiltrate the Ten Rings to identify him had ended up being pulled out of the Thames.  “Are you telling me Stark’s _housekeeper_ might be one of the people who knows who the Mandarin actually is?”  He closed his eyes.  “We need to tell Phil and Sitwell.”

When he opened his eyes, Bobbi was looking as grave as he felt.  “We really do,” she agreed.

~*~


	9. The Unmasking of Enemies

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 16th, 1934_

Phil glanced up as the door to Stark’s study opened.  Savin had just left, and as he and Jasper had already interviewed Mrs Davis, they weren’t expecting anyone else.  Unfortunately, neither Savin nor the housekeeper had provided any new information.  Truthfully, Phil hadn’t thought they would.  He blinked as Clint and Bobbi slipped quietly into the room, instantly taking note of their tense faces.  “What is it?  Has something happened?” he asked, already half out of his chair.

“Yes,” Clint replied grimly, “but no one’s been hurt.”  He waved Phil back into his seat.  “We have a small problem with our housekeeper.”

Phil blinked, and a glance at Jasper showed he was equally confused.  “Mrs Davis?” Phil asked.  “Do you perhaps want to start at the beginning?”

Clint huffed and glared.  Before he could say anything else, Bobbi stepped forward and placed her hand on Clint’s arm.  “Clint said Savin called Mrs Davis ‘Ellen’ when you overheard them?” she said, her eyes slightly narrowed as she looked at Phil.

“Yes, he did,” Phil confirmed, raising both eyebrows slightly.

Jasper frowned, pulling out his notebook and flipping through it.  “That’s strange,” he said.  “Miss Potts said the housekeeper’s name was Mrs Caroline Davis.”

Bobbi nodded.  “That wouldn’t surprise me,” she said dryly.  “I don’t think our housekeeper is a housekeeper at all.”  She took a deep breath.  “I think Mrs Davis is actually Ellen Brandt, one of the senior members of the Ten Rings Triad.”

Phil froze, not even daring to breathe.  If Bobbi was right, everything was suddenly a lot more dangerous.  Beside Phil, Jasper was cursing, no longer even caring that there was a woman in the room.  Not that Bobbi would mind.

“So we searched her room for clues,” Clint said.

“You searched her room?” Jasper echoed incredulously, narrowing his eyes.

“I was under the impression we were working with you on this investigation, Detective Inspector?” Bobbi said archly.

Jasper frowned.  “That doesn’t mean you need to take so many risks.”  He paused.  “What did you find?”

Clint frowned.  “Sadly, there were no convenient passports lying around, but we did find this.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, Clint pulled out a folded piece of paper.  Crossing the room, he handed it to Phil, before sprawling out beside him on the sofa.  Arching an eyebrow, phil opened the paper, his eyes flicking over the writing.  “A love letter,” he said, wincing a little at wine of the flowery words.  “Addressed to ‘my dearest Ellen’.”

He passed the letter to Jasper.  “It’s not proof enough for a trial,” Jasper said.  “I assume the War Office has a set of recent photographs of all Ten Rings members?”

Bobbi nodded.  “I’ll telephone the Director and have them sent over as soon as possible.”

Jasper nodded.  “What about the handwriting?” he asked, holding out the letter.  “Does it match any of the notes on the formula we found?”

Bobbi nodded.  “Some of them, yes,” she said.  “And if I had to guess, I’d say the other set of handwriting belonged to Killian.”

Jasper sighed.  “So Killian and Savin are, or were, both working with the Ten Rings,” he said.  “Otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to get their hands on that formula.  The only question is how deep were their dealings?”

Phil arched an eyebrow.  “You think Killian was a member of the Ten Rings?” he said.

“Well,” Clint drawled from beside him before Jasper could reply.  “Did anyone check Killian for tattoos?”

Phil blinked and looked at Clint.  “No,” he replied quietly.  “I don’t suppose you did?”

Clint grimaced.  “Sorry, no,” he said.  “I didn’t think of it until just now.”

“I’ll telephone the coroner,” Jasper said.  “He’ll be able to check for us.”

Phil nodded.  “Killian still might not have a tattoo even if he was a member,” he said.  “The mark does come with a certain… notoriety.  Killian might have wanted to avoid that.”

Jasper shrugged, letting his head fall back against the chair and his eyes sliding shut.  “It’s all speculation at this point, anyway.”

“Speaking of speculation,” Bobbi said, perching on the edge of Stark’s desk.  “Can we rule out Ellen Brandt’s involvement in the recent ‘accidents’?”

Phil listened with half an ear, his thoughts whirling with implications.  He could see the Ten Rings wanting Stark dead as revenge.  Perhaps for the failed kidnapping, but if that was the case, why not just shoot Stark when he was in London?  The more he thought, the more he was beginning to area with Clint’s idea.  Maybe Stark hadn’t been the intended victim at all.

Jasper frowned.  “At this point, I’m not sure we can rule anything out,” he said.  “Are we even sure that Killian wasn’t behind the sabotage?  So far all three of Stark, Banner and Rhodes could be the intended victim.  Killian could have been trying to get rid of his scientific rivals.  Or maybe just those for Pepper’s affections.”

“And what?  Stark, Rhodes or Banner killed him in revenge?” Clint said sceptically.  “No, I don’t see it.  Banner might have an infamous temper, but I don’t even think he’d be capable of murder.”  He frowned.  “Why not just throw Killian out if the house?”

“Can we even assume there’s only one intended victim?” Bobbi asked.  “What if someone is trying to kill Stark _and_ either Banner or Rhodes?”

Phil sighed, barely resisting the urge to rub his forehead.  He couldn’t help but feel they were going around in circles.  “This isn’t really getting us anywhere, is it?” he said.

Bobbi smiled wryly.  “Not particularly,” she agreed.

“What we really need to do,” Jasper said.  “Is take a look at Killian’s room.  If he really is involved with the Ten Rings, there might be a clue in his things.  Hell, at this point we can’t even prove Killian’s murder has anything to do with the formula at all.  For all we know, Brandt and Savin killed him because the Mandarin asked them to.”

“Savin definitely had opportunity,” Clint said.

“That’s not all, either,” Jasper said.  “Savin also revealed something when we questioned him.  He said he heard Dr Banner arguing with a woman last night.  They were trying not to be loud, but Banner was definitely angry.”

“A woman?” Bobbi said.  “Do you think he figured out Ellen Brandt was more than she said she is?”

“It’s possible,” Phil said.  He frowned.  “But it’s also not within his best interests to draw attention to her.  Particularly since they’re having an affair.”

“Which leaves Miss Ross and Miss Potts,” Clint said.  He was staring at the wall opposite, lost in thought.

“What about Miss Bishop?” Jasper asked, flipping through his notebook again.  “She was at dinner the other night, wasn’t she?”

Phil nodded.  “She’s a regular guest, but she doesn’t sleep here.  It’s unlikely she would have been arguing with Dr Banner late at night.”  At Jasper’s raised eyebrow, he smiled.  “Her father owns the neighbouring estate.”

Jasper grimaced.  “Of course he does,” he muttered.  “Right, so we definitely need to interview Miss Potts and Miss Ross.”

“If I were you, I’d start with Miss Ross,” Clint said, glancing up.  “She and Dr Banner have been exchanging looks all weekend.  There’s definitely something between them.”

Bobbi nodded, and then arched an eyebrow.  “I think we should search Killian’s room first, don’t you?” she said.

Jasper sighed.  “Right.  Let’s go then.”

~*~

Clint frowned as he followed Phil and Jasper into Killian’s bedroom.  Bobbi had stayed behind in Stark’s study to telephone Fury and go over the formula notes again.  She’d argued that they didn’t need four people to search one room.  Clint was inclined to agree.  He wasn’t sure what they were going to find.  Conclusive evidence of Killian’s involvement with the Ten Rings was hardly going to be lying around.  Like Savin, Killian’s guest room held a bed, bureau and a fireplace.  Instead of armchairs, however, there was a small desk in the corner, holding two leather bound books.  Frowning slightly, Clint wandered over to look at the titles.  “Huh.  Shakespeare,” he said.

“Shakespeare?” Sitwell echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“There was a book of Shakespearean sonnets in Savin’s room,” Clint explained.  “It’s where Bobbi and I found the formula, hidden inside the pages.”

Phil hummed thoughtfully.  Clint glanced at him, curious, because that was the sound of Phil figuring things out.  “You think that’s important?” Clint asked him quietly.

“Maybe,” Phil replied.  “There’s a trick to writing coded messages.  It uses a passage of text known only to the person sending the message and the one receiving it.”

Clint blinked.  “And you think that might be how Killian and Savin pass messages to the Ten Rings?”

“Or maybe they just like poetry,” Sitwell interrupted dryly.  “Not everything has to involve spies and coded messages.”

Phil’s mouth quirked up into a small smile.  “But they could,” he said.

Rolling his eyes, Sitwell huffed and turned to search the room.  Nothing seemed out of place to Clint.  Frowning, he concentrated on looking in places Killian might have hidden something important.  If Savin had only been after the formula earlier, he might have overlooked other things.  “So, do we have any idea what we’re looking for?” Clint asked.

“Well, indisputable proof Killian was a member of the Ten Rings would be nice,” Sitwell sighed.  “Or the signed confession of his killer.”

Phil met Clint’s gaze and rolled his eyes at Sitwell’s humour.  Clint smiled back, before flashing Sitwell a smirk.  “I’ll get right on that,” he drawled.

They fell into silence after that.  Clint left Phil and Sitwell to search Killian’s suitcase to cross to the desk.  As expected, both desk drawers were empty, and nothing was hidden on the underside.  Not disheartened yet, Clint knelt down.  He’d learnt a trick in Argentina, from a man with laughing brown eyes.  Just like Eduardo had shown him, Clint reached behind where the drawers had been.  He grinned when his fingers brushed something wedged under the desk.  Carefully, he untangled it from its hiding place and pulled out the cloth-wrapped bundle.  “I found something,” he called out.

Clint heard both Phil and Sitwell cross the room behind him as he stood to show them what he’d found.

“Now, where did you find that?” Sitwell asked, blinking at the bundle.

Phil looked equally intrigued and Clint couldn’t help his smirk.  “Wedged behind the drawers underneath the desk,” he said.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Sitwell muttered.

“Well, I am a scoundrel,” Clint quipped.

Carefully, he untied the bundle and peeled back the cloth.  The object had a surprising weight to it, and Clint felt his eyebrows shoot up when he pulled back the last corner of the material.  Sitting in the palm of his hand was a solid metal medallion.  It looked bronze, moulded intricately into the curled form of a dragon.  Embedded in the corners were small pieces of wax, and around the edges, tiny characters spelled out some sort of message.  “That’s…  What is that?” he said.

Sitwell sucked in a breath.  “I guess we have our answer as to whether Killian was involved with the Ten Rings,” he said.

Confused, Clint glanced at Phil, hoping for an explanation.  Phil looked grim, the lines of his face deepening as he frowned.  “It’s a replica of a sixteenth century carved medallion from the Ming Dynasty.  The Mandarin uses them as seals to communicate with his trusted lieutenants.”

“If he ever receives a message without a seal, he burns the message and shifts his operation,” Sitwell added.  “Both Scotland Yard and the War Office have been trying to get a hold of one for years.”  He tore his gaze away from the seal.  “We should show Agent Morse.”

Clint swallowed.  “This puts a whole different spin on Killian’s murder, doesn’t it?” he said.

Phil cocked his head slightly.  “You think someone found out that Killian was Ten Rings and killed him for it?”

“Well,” Clint said.  “If I found out a member of a known Triad was staying in my house, trying to seduce someone I cared about, I might get a little angry.”

Sitwell blinked.  “"You think _Stark_ could have killed him?”

Clint shrugged.  “The Ten Rings did try to kidnap Stark last year.  At the very least, someone might be willing to kill to protect him.”  Clint didn’t really think that had happened, but he’d been wrong about people before.  Besides, Stark’s friends weren’t the only ones with a vested interest in keeping him alive.  “Actually, I was thinking of Captain Blonsky or General Ross.”

Sitwell narrowed his eyes.  “Please tell me you’re not about to go around accusing a _General_ of murder,” he said.  He pointed a finger in Clint’s direction to reinforce his words.

“Well, I wasn’t going to do it without _proof_ ,” Clint replied. “But we still don’t know what Captain Blonsky was doing sneaking around last night.”

Sitwell sighed.  “My head is beginning to hurt,” he muttered.  “I think it would just be a better idea to start fresh in the morning.”

“After we show this to Bobbi,” Clint said, covering the seal with the cloth again.

“Yes,” Sitwell agreed.  “After that.  I’ll send the Sergeant up here to search the rest of this room more thoroughly in the morning, too.”

“Good idea,” Phil said.

~*~

Bobbi cursed loudly when they showed her what they’d found in Killian’s room.  Despite the situation, Phil had hidden a smile at Jasper’s reaction.  It was hard to make the seasoned Scotland Yard detective blush, but Bobbi had managed.  Jasper had disappeared not long after, returning to the hotel in the village.  He’d planned to meet the coroner in the morning to examine Killian’s body.  Presumably, he also wanted to keep an eye on the mysterious ‘Jack’ now that the Ten Rings were confirmed to be a part of this case.  Bobbi had opted to stay, no doubt to keep a better eye on all the suspects.

Phil sighed, straightening his tie in the mirror.  It had been a long day, and exhaustion was starting to weigh him down.  He didn’t particularly want to sit through dinner with the other guests,  Unfortunately, his absence would be noted.  At the sound of his door opening, he turned, relaxing when he saw that it was Clint.  Clint was also dressed for dinner, his black tie immaculate aside from his undone collar.  He held his tie in his hand and Phil smiled.  Had the last time Phil had done this only been the previous evening?

Raising both eyebrows, Clint shut the door and walked over.  “Are you all right, Phil?” he asked quietly.

Phil smiled softly.  “Yes,” he replied.  “I’m only tired.”

“Just tired?” Clint said.

Seeing the worry his lover was trying to hide, Phil reached out to cup Clint’s cheek.  “Yes,” he said firmly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Clint’s lips.

Clint let out a soft groan and pulled Phil in further, deepening the kiss.  Phil gave into it, sliding his other hand around Clint’s waist.  Eventually, Clint pulled back.  “I don’t suppose we can just have dinner in your room, can we?” he said.

“As tempting as that sounds,” Phil replied, “I think we’ll be missed.”

He leaned against Clint, trusting the other man to hold him up for a moment.  Clint tightened his grip, seeming to understand that Phil needed the comfort.  “I guess now would be a bad time to bring up Bobbi?” Clint murmured.

“No, of course not.”  Phil straightened, stepping back to put a little space between them for the conversation.  Clint caught his hand and squeezed, so Phil didn’t go too far.  If Phil was being honest, Clint’s instinctive need to keep him close was reassuring.  “I meant what I said before,” Phil added.  “I’ll answer any questions you have.”

Clint’s lips curved into the ghost of a smirk.  “Even the classified ones?  Because I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to answer those.”

Phil shrugged, just a small twitch of his shoulders.  “I will anyway,” he said firmly, as if what he was contemplating wasn’t highly dangerous.  He let his own smirk show.  “Besides, it’s not the only law I regularly break with you.”

Huffing out a laugh, Clint shook his head. “No, it’s not,” he agreed.  His gaze searched Phil’s as the humour slid from his face.  “You really would, wouldn’t you?  You’d tell me all your secrets.  Even the dangerous ones.  You trust me that much.”

Phil blinked, ice slicing through him.  “ _Of course_ I trust you,” he began, but Clint halted his words by pressing a finger to Phil’s lips.

“No, I didn’t mean…”  Clint let out a breath, his eyes sliding shut.  “Trust has always been a rare gift in my life,” he whispered.  “Bobbi, Natasha… and now you.  You’re the only people who have ever really trusted me.”  He blinked open his eyes again.  “It’s just… overwhelming, sometimes.”

There was a world of implications behind Clint’s words.  Reaching out again, Phil smiled softly and ran his thumb along Clint’s cheekbone.  He wasn’t sure what he could say that he hadn’t already said, so he just pulled Clint close.  Clint sagged against him with a sigh, burying his face into Phil’s collar.  “I love you, Phil,” Clint muttered.

Phil pressed a kiss to Clint’s temple.  “I love you too, Clint,” he whispered back.  “Very much.”

A knock at the door broke the quiet intimacy, and Clint pulled back with a wry grimace.  “I guess that’s all the peace we get for now,” he said.

Before Phil could reply, the door opened.  His heart skipping a beat, Phil stepped back hastily, even as Clint did the same.  The were all too aware what they looked like.  A beat later, Phil recognised who it was and swallowed a curse.  “You know, most people would wait to be invited in,” he said, glaring a little.

Bobbi grinned unrepentantly as she closed the door behind her.  Dressed for dinner, she wore a dark blue dress that hugged her lean figure just enough to be seductive.  Her hair was pinned elaborately, and sapphires dangled from her ears.  She looked stunning.  “Phil, I already know most of what you get up to already, remember?” she said.  She flicked her gaze to Clint.  “So, has he told you any of the juicy secrets yet?”

Clint smirked, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes.  “That depends on what juicy secrets you’re talking about,” he told Bobbi.

Bobbi glanced between them and arched an eyebrow.  “And here I was, thinking gentlemen didn’t tell,” she teased.

Phil rolled his eyes.  “Did you want something, Bobbi?” he asked pointedly.

Bobbi shot him a somewhat reproachful look.  “I came to see if you needed help telling Clint the story about how we met,” she said.  “You don’t usually like telling that one.”

Phil let out a breath.  “No, I don’t,” he agreed.  Clint looked intrigued now, and Phil flashed both him and Bobbi and apologetic glance.  “I’m just not sure we have time to tell it before dinner.”

A smirk curled across Bobbi’s face.  “Well, we could always tell him about our adventures around Westminster,” she said, moving to take a seat by the fireplace.  Clint and Phil drifted over to join her.  “Clint has always been curious why I know about the secret tunnel in the House of Lords.”

Phil felt his cheeks heat as Clint’s eyes went wide.  “That was you?”  He grinned.

Bobbi glanced at him, her eyes dancing.  “Phil has always loved secret tunnels,” she teased.

Phil rolled his eyes.  “If I told you Nick was actually the one that found the tunnel, would either of you believe me?”

Bobbi cocked her head to the side, considering.  “Yes,” she said.  “If anyone could do it, it would be the Director.”

“So what were you doing in Westminster in the first place?” Clint asked, his gaze bright with curiosity.

This time, Phil couldn’t stop his smile.  “We suspected Lord Hastings was passing secrets to the Kaiser,” he said.  “Bobbi and I were sent in undercover.  We were supposed to find proof without alerting Lord Hastings.  The plan was to have counterintelligence agents pass him false information.”

Still watching him, Clint smirked.  “And naturally, you found the proof,” he said.

“Oh, he did,” Bobbi agreed.  “By seducing Lord Hasting’s daughter.”

“I didn’t seduce anyone,” Phil said with a frown, even as Clint grinned at him.  “I just offered Audrey a break from some of the more grasping of her suitors.”

“Which is how you ended up alone with her in her father’s office?” Bobbi said, both eyebrows raised and a clearly feigned look of innocence on her face.

Phil sighed.  “Audrey let me into her father’s office because she suspected he was up to something and wanted to save him,” he said.  He shot Bobbi a reproachful look.  “And you know that.”

Bobbi shrugged, unrepentant.  “I do, but it’s so fun to watch your ears turn pink.”

“I’m so glad I can be here for your enjoyment,” Phil said in the driest tone he could muster.

Clint chuckled, low and rough, his eyes gleaming as they studied Phil.  “Don’t worry, Phil.  I’ll appreciate you later.”

Phil arched an eyebrow, making Clint chuckle again.  Then he let out a breath and turned back to Bobbi.  “I suppose we had better head downstairs to dinner,” he said.

Clint sighed.  “If we must,” he said.  He rose to his feet with his usual feline grace, before turning to Phil and gesturing to his tie.  “I don’t suppose you’d mind?”

Phil smiled, stepping close enough to help.  Unlike the night before, he didn’t linger, aware of Bobbi’s amused gaze.  “I see that hasn’t changed, then,” she said.

Clint shot her a glare over Phil’s shoulder as Phil bit back a smile.  “There,” said, stepping back.  “You’re presentable.”

Narrowing his eyes, Clint huffed.  “I look damn good in this suit,” he said.  Pointedly, he turned to Bobbi and offered his arm.  “May I escort you to dinner, Miss Morse?”

“Thank you, Mr Barton,” Bobbi replied, laughter in her voice as she took Clint’s arm.  “Come along, Phil.”

Shaking his head, Phil followed.

~*~

When Clint arrived downstairs with Bobbi, everyone was still lingering over cocktails.  Savin was lounging, indolent, on one of the sofas like a spoilt king.  Yet, his hard eyes were watching the room.  On the other sofa, Miss Ross was carefully sipping her drink and Clint saw Phil move to join her.  Pepper and Dr Banner were having a conversation by the fireplace, while Stark and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes manned the small bar.  As Clint watched, they poured a fairly elaborate-looking drink into a glass.  Even Kate had joined them, although she appeared to be the only one not nursing a drink.  Sweeping the room with a glance, Clint pasted a smirk on his face and headed towards where Stark was standing at the bar.  “What can I get you to drink, Miss Morse?” he said.

“Please, allow me,” Rhodes said, stepping forward.

“Moving fast, aren’t you?” Kate said as she came up to stand beside Clint.  She was once again wearing purple, the long sweep of the dress very flattering to her figure.  Clint couldn’t fault her choice of colour.

Clint hid a smirk.  “I know you refuse to fall for it, Miss Bishop, but others do find me charming,” he said.

Kate snorted.  “Maybe easily distracted secretaries,” she muttered.

“Hey,” Clint said, sharper than he’d intended.  “Bobbi’s a lot smarter than you give her credit for.”  He took a deep breath and softened his tone.  “You shouldn’t judge people so harshly, Kate.  Some of us just like to have our fun where we can find it.”

“Sorry,” Kate said softly, her chin raised but her gaze not quite meeting Clint’s.  “You’re right.”

Clint nudged her shoulder gently, because there was a story behind those words.  He wouldn’t press.  “Now, if it was Stark you were judging…” he said.  “I’d say go for it.”

Kate shot him a sidelong glance.  “Please,” she said, sounding more like herself.  “As if you aren’t almost as bad as Stark.”

Clint pressed a hand dramatically to his chest, fighting a grin.  “You wound me, Katie-Kate.”

Kate snorted.  “Someone has to bring your ego down to size occasionally.”  She glanced over to the sofas, where Phil had joined Miss Ross.  “There’s something you should know,” she said in a low voice.  “I think it’s very important for your case.”

“What did you see?” Clint asked.  He was more impressed by Kate every time they spoke.  Clint had a feeling she’d be truly _formidable_ with a few more years experience.

“I was strolling across the gardens earlier, on my way home to get changed for dinner,” Kate said.  “And I saw Miss Ross sitting by the fountain Stark keeps to impress people.  She was holding something in her hand and sort of staring at it sadly.”  Kate shot Miss Ross another glance.  “I’m not sure that Miss Ross is the kind to cry, but I had the feeling she almost wanted to.”

Clint felt both eyebrows rise.  Kate was right.  What she’d seen sounded very important.  “I don’t suppose you saw what was in her hand?” he asked.

Kate frowned.  “Not clearly, but I did see a flash of gold.”  She looked and Clint and shrugged slightly.  “I think it might have been a wedding ring.”

Clint blinked.  “Well,” he said with a sigh, his gaze drifting over to Phil and Miss Ross were sitting.  “That does change things, doesn’t it?”

“You don’t think…” Kate asked, trailing off.

“That Miss Ross was involved in Killian’s murder?” Clint finished.  “No.  But I do think she’s somehow involved in the rest of it, whether she knows it or not.”

Before Clint could speculate any further, Bobbi and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes wandered over.  With a smirk, Bobbi held out a glass to Clint, another in her other hand.  “James assures me this is the good stuff,” she said, her eyes dancing.

“Thanks,” Clint said dryly, because he would have preferred vodka to scotch and Bobbi knew it.

“So,” Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes said, his eyes drifting to Kate and then back to Clint.  “Should I ask how the investigation is going?”

Clint grimaced.  “I’m not entirely sure I can answer that,” he said.

Rhodes’ lips turned up in a wry smile.  “No sharing important details with the suspects?”

“No, it’s not that,” Clint told him.  “Mostly it’s just because I’m not sure.”

Rhodes smiled, his dark eyes warming.  “Well, in that case, I hope dinner helps,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sure it will,” Bobbi said.  “Clint does always think better on a full stomach.”

Clint narrowed his eyes at her as Rhodes hid his smile behind his own drink.  Kate wasn’t nearly so subtle, instead smirking openly.

A moment later, Jarvis entered the room.  “Dinner is served in the main dining room,” he intoned.

“Excellent,” Stark said, downing the rest of his drink with a flourish.  “Shall we?”

“Why not?” Savin said, a vicious curl to his lips as he stood.  His eyes cut to Rhodes, flicking up and down dismissively.  “Even if the company is a bit… lacking.”

Rhodes stiffened beside Clint, but said nothing.  As Savin strolled out of the room, Clint had to restrain himself from scowling.  Or worse.  Rhodes was capable of defending himself.  Although, Rhodes had also made a point to avoid both Killian and Savin over the last few days.

“Just say the word,” Stark said in a low voice.  “I will have Jarvis throw him out of this house.”

“It’s fine, Tony,” Rhodes said with a resigned sigh.

“No, it’s not,” Tony cut in.

“It really isn’t,” Phil agreed, stepping up to their little group.  “But perhaps you could resist throwing him out of the house just yet?  At least until our investigations are complete.”

Stark grudgingly nodded once, before turning to Pepper as she walked over.  “Tony,” she said, interrupting whatever Stark had been about to say.  “Why don’t you escort me in to dinner?”

Beside her, Dr Banner smiled and held out his arm towards Kate.  “Miss Bishop, I would be honoured if you would allow me to do the same,” he said.

Bobbi winked surreptitiously to Clint, before wandering over to Miss Ross.  Together, the two women headed off to dinner as well.  Bobbi no doubt intended to do a little subtle interrogation on the way.

Rhodes let out a breath, glancing between Phil and Clint.  “I suppose you’d both like to know what that was about,” he said.

Phil grimaced.  “I have a feeling I already know what that was about,” he said quietly.

Nodding, Rhodes attempted a wry smile.  “No one goes so far as to insult me to my face, because I’m Tony Stark’s friend, but they don’t seek me out in public, either.  And I hear the whispers.”

Phil nodded.  “I have to ask, but…”

“Was Killian the same?” Rhodes finished.  “No, he wasn’t.  He definitely never liked me, or my skin colour, but I always got the feeling there was something far more personal to it, too.”

Even as he filed that fact away for later, Clint smirked.  “For what it’s worth, I would much rather call you a friend, Lieutenant Colonel, than men like Savin and Killian.”  And that was without both if them being Ten Rings thugs.

“Indeed,” Phil agreed with feeling.

Rhodes smiled, his eyes warming.  “In that case, there’s probably something I should tell you.”  He shot Clint a slightly sheepish look.  “When you questioned me about what I overheard on the night of the murder, I wasn’t entirely honest with you.”

Clint had always suspected as much.  “So what did you overhear?” he asked.

“Bruce.  He was arguing with someone,” Rhodes replied.  “I couldn’t quite hear what about, but whoever he was arguing about was a woman.”

Clint blinked.  He hadn’t expected that.  Frowning thoughtfully, he tried to fit the new piece into the puzzle, but he wasn’t exactly sure what it meant.  He barely managed a nod to Rhodes as the other man made excuses and went to dinner.

“Have you thought of something?” Phil asked, and Clint blinked away his thoughts to find Phil had stepped closer.

“Maybe,” Clint replied.  “Didn’t Savin also overhear Banner arguing with someone?”

Phil hummed.  “You’re right.  He did,” he said.  “I was already going to rule out Pepper, because presumably Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes is familiar enough with Pepper’s voice to recognise it.”

“And neither Kate or Bobbi were in the house,” Clint added.  “If you assume Savin would also recognise the housekeeper’s voice, that only leaves Miss Ross.”

Sighing, Clint glanced at Phil.  “We need to talk to Miss Ross, don’t we?”

“We do,” Phil agreed.  He smiled at Clint, his eyes crinkling.  “But tomorrow.  Right now, I think we should eat and retire to bed.”

Clint grinned.  “I like the way you think, Detective.”

~*~


	10. Discovering the Truth

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 16th, 1934_

After dinner, Phil retreated to his room.  He sat down in one of the armchairs, but the warmth of the fire was soon lulling him into a doze.  He should probably drag himself to bed, but he couldn’t quite manage it.  In the back of his mind, he was still working on the case, but he had yet to work out the key to what was going on.  Sighing, he leaned back in his chair.  Sleep could only help.

Clint and Bobbi had lingered downstairs, and Phil couldn’t begrudge Clint their time to catch up.  It was clear that Clint cared for Bobbi deeply.  Bobbi was an easy woman to love.  Eyes were drawn to her whenever she entered the room, and her beauty hid a fierce intelligence.  It was that intelligence and her determined stubbornness that made her so formidable.  Phil huffed.  His jealousy was not becoming.  And worse, made it seem that he didn’t trust either Bobbi or Clint, which he _did_.

A soft giggle brought Phil’s attention out of his thoughts.  He smiled in the direction of the door.  By the sounds of it, Clint and Bobbi may have had slightly too much to drink.  Instead of passing by like Phil had expected, the footsteps paused, and after a quiet knock, Clint pushed open the door.  He grinned when he saw that Phil was still awake.  Since dinner, Clint had undone his bow tie, which was now hanging loose around his neck.  He'd lost his jacket somewhere as well, leaving him in just his waistcoat.  It was an attractive sight.

“See?” Clint said, glanced over his shoulder to Bobbi.  “I told you he’d be brooding.”

“I am not brooding,” Phil told him as Clint slipped into the room, Bobbi just behind him.

Clint waved a hand towards where Phil was sitting in front of the fireplace.  Before he could say anything, Bobbi interrupted.  “No, he’s right,” she agreed.  “Phil doesn’t brood.  He ruthlessly plots and calculates, but he doesn’t _brood_.”

Phil eyed both Bobbi and Clint carefully.  “Do I need to worry that you got into Stark’s liquor supply?” he asked.

“No,” Bobbi told him, but her eyes were amused.  She sauntered over and sat down in the armchair as regally as a queen on her throne.  “Clint and I were just reminiscing.”

Clint smiled a little sheepishly as he too wandered over to the fire.  He perched on the arm of Phil’s chair, leaning into Phil’s shoulder.  “We were trading stories,” he said softly, “and when we realised you were in half of them, we came up to find you.”

Phil smiled, warmth spreading through his chest.  “I see how it is,” he said.  “You’re giving away all my secrets when I’m not there.”

Bobbi smirked back.  “I didn’t tell Clint about how we met,” she replied.

“You seem awfully determined for me to tell that story,” Phil said dryly, trying to cover the way his stomach clenched.

Briefly, Bobbi glanced at the fire.  “I think Clint should know,” she said, “and I’ve never been able to tell him before.”

“Look, you don’t have to…” Clint began.

Phil swallowed, reaching out to grab Clint’s hand as he looked up at the other man.  “I want to tell you,’ he said.  “It’s just… difficult.”

Clint squeezed Phil’s hand in reassurance, and Phil squeezed back.  He let out a breath.  “I wasn’t there for the beginning.” he said.  “Not really.  Bobbi was already fleeing across the Vosges by the time I was brought in.”  Smiling wryly, Phil shook his head.  “I should probably start earlier than that.”

“Start wherever you want, Phil,” Clint murmured.

In her chair, Bobbi leaned forward.  At Phil’s questioning look, she smiled.  “I was there, and I’ve read the mission files, but I’ve never heard the story from you, Phil,” she said.

Phil let out a breath.  “I was seventeen when I joined up, at the beginning of 1915.  I wanted to do my duty and fight for my country, except I didn’t really have any idea of what that meant.  Luckily, I was taken under the wing of my commanding officer, Captain Joseph Rogers.  He taught me the tricks of how to survive, which was just as well, because we ended up being sent to the Western Front.”  Phil swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.  He was grateful for the slow, smooth circles Clint was rubbing against the back of his hand.  “It was… hell, in a word.  I hope to God I never see anything like it again.  We ended up stationed in northern France in 1916, part of the effort to capture the Aubers Ridge.”  Breaking off, Phil shut his eyes.  The sudden ghosts of artillery fire and men shouting in pain filled his ears.

“You don’t have to tell me this, Phil,” Clint whispered gently.  Phil grabbed a hold of Clint’s voice, using it to ground himself in the present.  “Not if it… if you don’t want to.”

Phil blinked open his eyes and offered Clint a wan smile.  “I want to,” he said.  “I do, it’s just…”

“It’s where Captain Rogers died,” Clint finished for him.  “That’s why you knew Steve Rogers, back when we met him at the Savoy a few months ago.  He’s the son of your Captain.”

Nodding, Phil sucked in a deep breath.  “The Captain was shot by a German sniper.  No one saw it coming.  One moment he was yelling orders, the next he was lying in the mud.”  Swallowed again, Phil shook of his memories.  “I was shot too, although nothing so serious.  I was sent back to England to recuperate, and that’s where Nick recruited me.  Said there was something better for me to do.”  He glanced at Bobbi, who was watching him with empathy in her eyes.  “I was barely out of Nick’s special training when he gave me my first mission.  He had an operative in deep cover who needed an extraction, coming over the Vosges mountains.  I already knew the area and could speak almost fluent French.”

Clint smiled.  “And, of course, that operative was Bobbi,” he said dryly.  Then he blinked.  “Wait a minute, you would have barely been…”

“Sixteen,” Bobbi broke in.  “Yes.  I wanted to help and I didn’t exactly play by the rules in the beginning.  I didn’t exactly ask the Director’s permission before I snuck myself into Germany.”  She grimaced.  “Mostly I was just trying to find information.  I wanted find something vital to send back to England.  While I was there, I stumbled across a particularly nasty group of saboteurs and spies.  They called themselves Skrulls.  When they realised who I was, I immediately started fleeing towards France, but they caught me as I got to the mountains.”

When she trailed off, Phil sent her a reassuring smile.  “I found Bobbi just after she crossed the border into France,” he said, shooting a glance at Clint.  “She’d been running from the Skrulls for weeks, all on her own.  There were only three on her trail by the time I caught up to them.  After that, it was easy to smuggle Bobbi through France.”  He shrugged a little.  “It wasn’t much of a rescue.  Although, I suppose it was easier to travel pretending to be brother and sister than it would have been for Bobbi alone.”

“Phil,” Bobbi said levelly.  “You crossed how many battlefield to get to me?  And I’m pretty sure you had to sneak me around several more of them while I was too tired to do anything but walk where you told me to.”  She smiled, leaning back against the armchair again.  “You really did save me, you know.  I couldn’t have done  it without you.”

“Yes you could have,” Phil countered immediately, because it was true.  He might have provided Bobbi with an easier escape, but there was _no_ doubt in Phil’s mind that Bobbi could have done it on her own.  Even as young as she’d been.

Clint chuckled, the rough sound sending a shiver down Phil’s spine.  He glanced up, only to find Clint watching him with banked heat in his eyes.  “I always knew you were dangerous, Phil,” he said.  “But now I’m really impressed.”

Phil frowned.  “I don’t…” he started.

Rolling his eyes, Clint just tilted Phil’s chin up with his calloused fingers and leaned down to press his lips to Phil’s.  Phil’s heart skipped a beat, instinctive fear curling through his stomach.  It didn’t matter that Bobbi would _never_ say anything to hurt him or Clint.  Pulling back, Clint smiled down at him.  “You are,” he murmured.

“And I think that is my cue to leave,” Bobbi said dryly.

Clint glanced up with a teasing smirk, even as Phil felt the blood rush to his face.  Bobbi smirked knowingly, her eyes dancing.  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, rising gracefully from her chair.  Walking over, she pressed a kiss first to Clint’s cheek, then to Phil’s.  “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Bobbi,” Phil said.

After Bobbi had slipped away, Clint shifted slightly on the arm of Phil’s chair.  It couldn’t be a comfortable place to sit, and Phil resisted tugging Clint down onto his lap.  If only because otherwise Phil might never leave the chair and make it to an actual bed.  As if reading his thoughts, Clint smiled and climbed to his feet.  He tugged on Phil’s hand, refusing to relinquish it.  “Come on,” he said.  “Time for bed.  You need sleep.”

“Only if you stay,” Phil said as he let Clint pull him to his feet.

The curve of Clint’s mouth was fond and amused.  It didn’t take Phil more than two steps to be firmly inside Clint’s space.  He slid an arm around Clint’s waist, pulling him even closer.  Clint’s warm, unresisting weight against him was heaven.  Unable to stop himself, Phil swayed forwards and caught Clint’s lips in a kiss.

Clint smiled, his huff of laughter muffled, before his mouth opened and the kiss turned deep and wet.  One of Clint’s calloused palms slid beneath Phil’s jacket and waistcoat at the small of his back.  Humming, Clint pulled back, his gaze dark and glinting with mischief.  “Definitely time for a bed,” he muttered, his nimble fingers slipping the jacket from Phil’s shoulders.

Phil smiled and let himself be pulled towards the bed.

~*~

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 17th, 1934_

Once again, Clint found himself awake and dressed early in the morning.  He’d untangled himself from Phil around dawn to slip back to his own room, muttered a stream of curses the whole time.  Before sunrise was definitely too early to be awake.  He’d told Phil as much, warning him that next time they did this Phil would be the one sneaking around.  Phil had agreed, because that was fair.  Only that had led to kissing and Clint had almost spent the whole morning in Phil’s bed anyway.  It was only the threat of Savin or Brandt catching them that had Clint moving in the end.

By the time Clint stumbled down to breakfast, still yawning, Phil was sipping a cup of coffee.  His dark grey suit was perfect, but Phil’s eyes weren’t quite open all the way yet.  Clint had to squash down the urge to drag Phil back upstairs to bed to sleep.  Instead, he grabbed his own cup of coffee and watched Jarvis bring in breakfast.  “So,” he asked as Jarvis left, his voice still gravelly from sleep.  “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Well,” Phil said, setting his cup down on its saucer.  “I think we need to question Miss Ross again.  Then, when Jasper arrives, he’ll hopefully have some new information from the coroner.”

Clint nodded.  “Do you think the coroner’s preliminary report will actually tell us something we don’t know?”

“I’m hoping it might,” Phil replied.  “At the very least, I’m hoping it will tell us if there are any injection marks on Killian’s body.  Or if he recently ingested something strange.”

Clink blinked.  That possibility hadn’t actually occurred to him.  “You think _Killian_ might have been taking the formula?” he said.  He frowned, toying with the handle of his coffee cup.  Reaching for his cigarette case, he pulled one out.  He hoped the combination of bitter coffee and nicotine would help him think.  “Even if he was, that doesn’t account for the strength with which he was strangled.”

“No,” Phil agreed.  “It doesn’t.”

“But it might be motive,” Clint mused, blowing out a stream of smoke.  The thought was still a little hazy around the edges, but Clint’s gut was telling him it was important.  “We’ve been assuming that Killian was murdered because of his treatment of those around him.  Or his membership of the Ten Rings.”  He glanced at Phil.  “But what if it was about the formula the whole time?  It stands to reason that if the Ten Rings wanted the serum so badly to steal it from Dr Hansen, others might as well.”

Phil nodded.  “You’re right,” he said.  “Whoever murdered Killian was stronger than average to have inflicted such damage.”  He grimaced, his gaze dropping to his coffee cup.  “There’s just one thing that’s bothering me.”

“Only one?” Clint joked and got a wryly amused look for his trouble.

“Why use the formula you’d just stolen on yourself?” Phil said.  “If someone was attempting to steal it, surely it would make more sense to replicate more?  More profitable, at least.”

Clint hummed, thinking back to when he’d first saw the crime scene.  “Actually, I think our killer is just desperate,” he said, several clues falling into place.  “Whoever it was took one vial of the serum, but there was another.  We found it beneath Killians body, remember?”

Phil blinked, his eyes sharpening.  “The serum soaking into the carpet.”

Clint nodded.  “What if Killian surprised the murderer?  They dropped the second vial, so they couldn’t use it anymore.  Maybe they murdered Killian in a rage, maybe to protect their identity.  But they searched the library afterwards for the formula.  That’s why the room was turned upside-down.  Only the murderer didn’t find it.”

Letting out a breath, Phil blinked and raised both eyebrows at Clint.  “If the murderer didn’t find the formula, they might still be after it,” he said.  “Do we even know if the serum needs multiple doses to work?”

Clint grimaced.  “We should ask Bobbi.”

Pepper and Miss Ross drifted in to breakfast a few moments later, cutting off further discussion of the case.  Clint didn’t mind -- he wanted a chance to think things over.  There was something at the edge of his thoughts that he couldn’t quite pin down.

“Good morning, Phil,” Pepper greeted warmly.  “Clint.”

“Good morning Pepper,” Phil replied.  “And you too, Betty.  I hope you both slept well?”

Clint shot Phil a curious look as he stubbed out his cigarette.  He’d had no idea Phil was on first name terms with Miss Ross.  Phil caught his gaze and rolled his eyes.

“I slept as well as could be expected, I suppose,” Pepper replied with a faint grimace.

Miss Ross nodded her agreement.  “The sooner this is over, the better for all of us, I think.”

“Yes,” Clint said, resisting the urge to light another cigarette.  Even with Phil’s distaste of them, it was a hard habit to break.  “I think you’re right, Miss Ross.”

“Please,” Miss Ross said with a smile.  “Call me Betty.”

Clint smiled back and nodded.  Betty seemed sweet and genuine, but Clint wondered if she’d still be so friendly after they asked her a few pointed questions.

The sound of a motorbike roaring up the gravel drive suddenly caught everyone’s attention.  Clint recognised the sound well, and not just because he was prone to racing them when he got the chance.

“What on earth…?” Pepper muttered, half rising to her feet again.

Phil rose too, ever the gentleman, but before he could venture out to see what was going on, Bobbi appeared in the doorway.  “Phil, you should see this,” she said, her eyes serious.

“If you’ll excuse us?” Phil said, as Clint climbed to his feet.

HIs curiosity piqued, Clint offered Pepper and Betty a smile as he followed Phil.  He didn’t end up getting very far, finding Bobbi speaking to a man dressed in motorcycle leathers in the front hall.  The man offered Bobbi a smile and handed her a tightly wrapped parcel.  Then, saluting jauntily, he headed back out the front door.

“What’s going on?” Clint asked in a low voice as he came to stand beside Phil.

“I’m not sure,” Phil replied.

Bobbi headed for Stark’s study, placing the wrapped parcel on the desk.  As soon as Phil closed the door behind them, Bobbi glanced up and sighed.  “I had the Director send over a copy of our Ten Rings file by dispatch rider,” she said.  “I thought at the very least it would help us formally identify Ellen Brandt as a member.”

Phil nodded.  “And we appreciate it.”

“But that’s not the problem, is it?” Clint added.  Bobbi wouldn’t have been this agitated over a file.

Bobbi sent him a wry smile.  “No, it’s not,” she replied.  “The Director passed on word.  According to the agents we had watching the Ten Rings headquarters, the Mandarin has gone missing.”

“What do you mean, gone missing?” Clint said, his eyes narrowed.  “How can someone go missing when we don’t even know what he looks like?”

“We have an agent undercover as a dock worker, and he hears enough to pass on pertinent rumours,” Bobbi explained.  “One of those rumours was that the Mandarin was supposed to be meeting a new shipment at the docks personally.  Only he never showed, which isn’t altogether strange, expect he didn’t send anyone either.  No one high ranking from the Ten Rings was involved at all last night.  And now people are saying the Mandarin hasn’t checked in with anyone in over a day, which is very unlike him.”

Clint eyed her skeptically.  “And that means you think he’s missing?” he asked.

“It’s enough to be unusual in a man who runs his illicit empire with an iron first,” Bobbi countered.  “So it worries me.”

“Do you think either Savin or Ellen Brandt had something to do with it?” Phil broke mildly.

Bobbi blew out a sigh.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “But something is going on in this house.  We need to get to the bottom of it.”

A knock at the door revealed Jarvis.  With a hint of a smile, he carried in a coffee pot on a silver tray, along with what looked like several plates of eggs and toast.  “Compliments of Miss Potts,” he said when he caught Clint watching.

“Miss Potts is an angel,” Clint replied as his stomach grumbled loudly.

Jarvis’ hint of a smile deepened.  From behind the butler, Phil shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes.  “I shall convey your compliment,” Jarvis said levelly.  Nevertheless, Clint got the impression he was being teased.

He ignored it in favour of pouring himself another cup of coffee as Jarvis left.  Turning, he found Phil suddenly standing beside him.  With a roll of his eyes, offered Phil the first cup and turned back to pour himself a new one.  “Thank you,” Phil whispered.

“Just doing my duty to keep you in supply,” Clint muttered back.

“So,” Phil said in a louder voice, turning to Bobbi.  “Do you mind if I have a look at your file?”

Vaguely, Clint was aware of Bobbi saying something in reply, but he ignored it as he walked over to the window.  He sipped his coffee, not really seeing the view, until Phil’s voice calling his name jolted him out of his pensiveness.  Blinking, he realised Phil had put down the file and was watching him with a narrow-eyed frown.  “Did you think of something, Clint?” Phil asked.

“I don’t know,” Clint said honestly.  “I was just trying to go over everything we knew to see if I could make some sort of sense of it.”

“Well, why don’t we?” Bobbi suggested.  “Maybe we’ve overlooked something.”

Clint took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “So,” he said.  “Where should we start?”

“At the beginning is usually customary, isn’t it?” Bobbi quipped.

Clint shot her a disgruntled glare.  When he turned his attention back to Phil, the other man smiled reassuringly, and motioned for Clint to keep going.  “Okay,” he said.  “The way I see it, there are three parts to this case, some of which are interconnected.  First, we have the reason Stark invited us in the first place.”

Phil nodded, taking a seat on the sofa.  “Dr Hansen’s disappearance,” he said.  “Which Bobbi has already found the answer to.”

“For all the good it did us,” Bobbi agreed dryly.  “And the second?”

“The ‘accidents’,” Clint said.  “Everyone assumed they were attempts on Stark’s life.  But I still believe Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes or Dr Banner was the intended victim.”  With a sigh, he joined Phil on the sofa.

Bobbi moved to pour her own cup of  coffee.  “You don’t think the attempts were on Stark’s life as well?” she asked.

Clint frowned.  “It’s possible, but no.  I don’t think so, because if they were, why put that string where they did?  It’s the one thing that doesn’t make sense.  They can’t have known Stark was going to go down that particular set of stairs.”

“But Stark _was_ driving alone when his motorcar crashed,” Phil countered.  “And he was present at the laboratory when…”

“The laboratory.  Of course,” Clint breathed.  Several things slotted into place in his mind with what felt like an almost audible click.  He glanced up, vaguely aware that Bobbi had taken a seat in the armchair nearby.  “Banner.  Someone is trying to kill Dr Banner.”

Phil blinked, his eyes widening.  “How can you be so sure?” he asked.  “Why not Rhodes?  Doesn’t he also have a bedroom near the stairs?”  He huffed as he worked out the answer.  “Rhodes was inside the house with Pepper.  He never went anywhere near the laboratory until after the gas had been released.”

Clint nodded mutely.  It all seemed rather obvious in retrospect.

“Why _did_ Stark end up getting caught in that stair trap, then?” Bobbi asked in the silence that followed.

“From observation, I would guess he was in Dr Banner’s room to discuss something.  Despite Pepper’s many warnings about dinner,” Phil said dryly.  “Both Banner and Stark seem to share a singular passion for science.”

“Should we warn Dr Banner?” Clint asked.

Phil nodded.  “I’ll have a word with him, but I was actually hoping we could solve this case before it came to matter.”

Bobbi let out a sigh.  “So what about Killian’s murder?” she asked.  “I assume that’s point number three?”

Clint sagged back against the couch.  “That I have no ideas about,” he muttered.

Grimacing, Bobbi took another sip of her coffee before setting aside the cup and saucer.  “Well, could it be connected to the attempts on Dr Banner’s life?”

“No,” Phil answered, a twist to the corner of his lips suggesting his impressive mind was at work.  “Killian’s murder was different.  There was no way someone would mistake that for an accident.”  He glanced between Clint and Bobbi, his blue eyes grave.  “It was also a different kind of death.  The ‘accidents’ were designed to place the would-be killer far away from the scene.  Yet with Killian’s death, the murderer would have had to look Killian right in the face.”

Clint shivered.  That was chilling.  “It all comes down to that formula again, doesn’t it?” he said.

“It does seem so,” Phil agreed, the lines on his face had deepening.  Because it was only Bobbi in the room, Clint shifted closer to offer what little comfort he could.  Phil sent Clint a small smile as Clint’s hand curled around his.

“There’s only two motives I can think of for someone to want that formula enough to be willing to kill,” Phil continued.  “Greed and desperation.”

Bobbi hummed.  “Savin and Brandt are both suspects when it comes to greed,” she said.  “I can see either one of them murdering Killian so they don’t have to share any profits from selling the serum.  Or as some sort of internal Triad dispute.”

Clint really hoped the reason for Killian’s murder didn’t involve Triad politics.  That was one thing they could do without.  Then another thought struck him.  “The serum has potential military applications, does it not?” he said.

Phil arched an eyebrow.  “You’re thinking General Ross or Captain Blonsky might be involved?”

“You don’t?” Clint replied, eyeing Phil carefully.

Hiding a smile, Phil took a sip of coffee, but he couldn’t stop the way the corners of his eyes crinkled.  “Oh, I do,” he replied, sobering.  “I’m just not sure their involvement is due to greed.”

Bobbi narrowed her gaze.  “Why not?” she asked.  Then she cursed, the idea apparently striking her.  “Because they didn’t search for the formula first.  If what Clint saw was right, the killer only searched for the formula _after_ the vial of serum was smashed on the carpet.”

“Exactly,” Phil said.

“So whoever our murderer is, they wanted the serum so they could use it, not sell it,” Clint said.  “Wonderful.”

“You said it,” Bobbi agreed grimly.

~*~

Phil bit back another sigh, tossing the photograph of Ellen Brandt back onto the desk.  They’d been going over things in Stark’s study all morning.  Sadly, since their discussion a few hours before, they hadn’t learned anything new.  It was frustrating, to say the least.  Clint had retreated to the window to think, cigarette held negligently in his hand and smoke curling in the air.  He seemed almost pensive, and Phil had to resist the urge to walk over and lean against him.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Bobbi muttered, giving voice to her own frustrations.

Phil smiled wryly.  “Hopefully Jasper will arrive soon,” he said.  “Even if he doesn’t bring news, perhaps when we explain what we deducted, it will gain us more insight.”

Eyeing him, Bobbi matching his smile.  “Does this mean the infamous Detective Coulson can’t solve this case?” she teased.

“Oh, don’t you start,” Phil muttered.  “Clint already teases me enough about that title.”

Bobbi’s reply was cut off when the study doors opened and Jasper strode through.  His face was drawn, his skin as pale as it ever got and his tie was crooked.  Jasper firmly shut the door behind him and took a deep breath, his shoulders shifting, before he glanced at the rest of the room.  Even Clint had turned away from the window, concern etched across his face.

“What happened?” Phil asked immediately, dread curling through his stomach.

Jasper let out a gusty sigh.  “I managed to speak with the coroner this morning,” he said.  “He’s finished his preliminary viewing of Killian’s body.”

“And?” Bobbi prompted when Jasper trailed off into silence.

“And I’m really hoping my suspicions are proven wrong,” Jasper said tiredly.

Wordlessly, Clint climbed to his feet and stubbed out his cigarette, before walking over to pour Jasper a cup of coffee.  Jasper looked like he needed it, and accepted it with a grateful smile at Clint.  Coffee in hand, Jasper glanced at Bobbi.  “I don’t suppose you know of a reliable description of the Mandarin’s tattoos, do you?” he asked.

Phil blinked, suddenly hoping that didn’t mean what he feared it might.  The marks were the only recognisable features of the Mandarin people could agree on -- two tattoos of dragons curling from his chest, over his shoulders and down his arms.

“I can do you one better,” Bobbi said, her shoulders slumping as if a sudden weight had settled on them.  “I had the file on the Ten Rings couriered over this morning by dispatch.  We actually managed to get a former thug to sketch out the tattoos in the hope of finding the identity of the Mandarin.”  She slid a piece of paper out of the file and walked over to Jasper with it.  “This is the best information we have.”

After glancing at the sketch, Jasper closed his eyes, his skin paling even further.  “I think I can finally tell you the identity of the Mandarin,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.  He blinked open his eyes again.  “Aldrich Killian.”

Phil felt his stomach plummet to his toes, ice curling through his veins.

“Can you be certain?” Bobbi asked sharply.

“I’m afraid so,” Jasper replied.  He reached inside the coat he was still wearing and pulled out a thin file.  When he flipped it open, Phil could see the photographs inside.  Jasper held up one of them, the sketch from Bobbi’s file held up beside them.  Phil briefly closed his eyes.  The tattoos covering Killian’s arms and shoulders in the photograph were an exact match for those in the sketch.

“Well, that’s pretty damning evidence,” Clint said.

“And the time of death?” Phil asked.

“Just like you said,” Jasper replied.  “Sometime after dinner, probably not later than one o’clock in the morning.”

Bobbi moved over to slump in an armchair.  “This is going to put a horrible spin on our case,” she muttered.  “The Director will be delighted when I tell him the Mandarin hasn’t just gone missing, he’s been _murdered_.  And under Anthony Stark’s roof, no less.”

Jasper blinked.  “You knew the Mandarin was missing?” he snapped.

As Bobbi relayed the information from earlier, Phil let his head fall back against the sofa.  That this complicated their case was an understatement.  Even so, Phil couldn’t help but feel the Mandarin’s identity had very little to do with Killian’s murder.

He blinked.  “I need to speak with Miss Ross,” he said, interrupting Jasper and Bobbi’s debate over what to do about the Ten Rings.

Jasper frowned.  “Miss Ross?” he said.  “Why?”

Clint smiled, his eyes warm and fond as he stared at Phil.  “Because Phil is about to solve your case,” he said.

Jasper sighed.  “Well, I suppose we should go and find Miss Ross.”

~*~

In the end, it wasn’t actually hard to find Miss Ross.  She’d retreated outside to one of the smaller gardens, seemingly to read one of her biology books in the sun.  However, as Clint and Phil approached, Clint caught the flash of gold from the ring she was toying with.  Like Kate had suspected, it _was_ a wedding ring.  In hindsight, the truth behind the glances she’d been shooting at Dr Banner seemed rather obvious.  He glanced at Phil, impressed that Phil had clearly already worked it out.

“Do you want me to hang back?” Clint asked in a low voice, before they got within earshot of Miss Ross.  They’d left Bobbi and Jasper back in Stark’s study, so it was just the two of them.

Phil glanced at him.  “I thought you offered to help me question Betty?” he said.

“Yes, I did,” Clint said, gesturing awkwardly between Phil and Miss Ross.  “But you seem to have a friendship with her that I… don’t.  And I didn’t want to intrude?”

Shaking his head, Phil smiled at him.  “You wouldn’t be intruding, Clint,” he said softly.  “Besides, when you’re not flirting with people, you have a very reassuring presence.”

Clint blinked.  “You know, I’m not entirely sure whether that’s a compliment or not,” he said.

“Take it as one,” Phil advised, waving at Miss Ross when she glanced up and spotted them.  The ring in her hand almost immediately disappeared up the sleeve of her pale green blouse.

“Good morning, Betty,” Phil greeted warmly.  “We’re sorry to disturb you, but we had a few questions for you.”

After a glance between Phil and Clint, Betty’s shoulders slumped slightly and she smiled wryly.  “I don’t suppose I could keep things secret around two detectives forever,” she said.

Phil’s smile was kind.  “If it helps, we don’t suspect you of anything,” he said.  “We just want a few answers.”

Closing her book, Betty nodded.  She shifted along the small stone bench she was sitting on, and Phil joined her.  Clint decided to lean against a nearby tree instead.  There was no space for him as well, not unless he sat in Phil’s lap.  Normally he wouldn’t mind.  He just tended to prefer a lack of audience.  “You don’t need to hide it, either,” he said, nodding towards her sleeve.

Betty swallowed, rising her eyes to Clint’s in surprise.  “Hide what?” she tried.

“Your ring,” Clint said quietly.

Glancing down at her lap, Betty let her hand, and the ring she was holding, slip out from her sleeve.  “Can you please not tell me father about this?” she asked.  “I know I don’t have much of a right to ask…”

“He won’t hear about it from us,” Phil reassured her.  “But may we ask…?”

“Who my husband is?” Betty interrupted.  She sucked in a shaking breath, even as a smile overtook her face.  “Bruce.  I married Bruce.”

“Congratulations, Mrs Banner,” Phil said with a smile.

Betty laughed.  “Thank you,” she replied.  “It feels so lovely to say it outloud.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, shooting a glance at Phil.  “Keeping secrets is hard.”

Nodding, Betty fixed Clint with a stare that was far too knowing, but she didn’t ask.  “I met Bruce at university, actually.  He was visiting one of my lecturers, and we got talking.  It didn’t turn into anything, not then, but we did becomes friends.”  She smiled.  “We wrote each other letters, discussing the latest scientific research.  He helped me choose what I wanted to write my dissertation on.”  This time, when Betty paused, her expression clouded over with grief and resigned acceptance.  “But then my mother got sick.  Father wanted me to help take care of her, so I left university.  I thought it would only be temporary, but after mother died, he wouldn’t let me go back.”

Clint bit back an unflattering description of General Ross.  Regardless of his feelings, it was clear to anyone who watched her that Betty loved science.  It seemed cruel to deny her that.  “So how did you meet Dr Banner again?” he asked, hoping to nudge Betty onto more pleasant topics.

“On one of my father’s research projects, if you can imagine,” Betty told him.  “It started with a few cups of tea and a borrowed text book, but… he was just as intelligent and kind as I remembered.  It didn’t take much to fall in love.  We married in secret, because my father barely let me leave his side after mother’s death.  I feared if Bruce asked, he wouldn’t let us.”

“So you snuck away and got married anyway,” Clint said.  He grinned.  “I have to commend you both.”

Betty blushed, but she still looked happy at the memory.

“You were the reason Bruce stayed in London instead of leaving with Stark in his motorcar,” Phil said thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Betty replied.  She frowned slightly.  “I was shopping while my father finished up things at his office.  We met for tea, and Bruce came up to the house later on the train with Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes.”

Clint resisted the urge to smirk at Phil, because that just reinforced the idea that Clint had been right.  Banner _was_ the intended victim of the ‘accidents’, not Stark.

“And your father?” Phil said.  “I saw him taking some pills the day before yesterday.  I assumed they were for headaches?”

“Ah, yes,” Betty agreed with a nod.  “That’s what he says.”

Phil studied her, something akin to a grimace in his eyes.  “But you suspect something else?  Something far more serious.”

Betty’s eyes flicked to him in surprise, and she nodded.  “Yes.  Cancer.  He thinks I don’t know, but I overheard him speaking to his doctor on the phone once.  I worked the rest out.”  She gave them a shaky smile.  “My father was involved in a research project, years ago.  Before my mother died, actually.  It’s where Bruce and I first started stepping out.  The project involved gamma radiation, and there was some sort of accident.  I don’t really know the details, but a lot of the staff who worked on that project have gotten very ill and died.”

Clint grimaced, because for all the fact that he hated his own father, it wasn’t easy to lose a parent.  “You think the same thing is happening to your father,” he said.

Betty nodded.  “The headaches have been getting worse lately, and he’s been having nose bleeds.”  She paused, biting her lip.  “Actually, that’s not entirely true.  He _was_ getting worse, but yesterday… he almost seemed back to his old self.  He told me he’d just slept well, but the tremor in his hand was gone, and he’d lost the pallor in his skin.”

Phil nodded, but his eyes were sad.  “I fear I know the reason why, Betty.”

Betty’s eyes widened, but then she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin.  “He’s involved in whatever’s been going on, isn’t he?” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

“I’m afraid so,” Phil replied.

Betty closed her eyes.  “Oh, Father,” she said.  She opened them, her gaze direct if a little bright as she glanced at Phil and Clint.  “For all his faults, he isn’t a horrible man.  Just a hard and judgemental one.  My mother used to soften him, but I fear after her death he’s lost that softness.”  She let out a breath.  “More than I feared.”

Phil reached out to squeeze Betty’s hand in comfort.  It wasn’t much, but Clint doubted there was anything either he or Phil could say to lessen the blow.  Betty seemed to appreciate the gesture all the same.  “There’s just one final thing I wanted to ask,” Phil said gently.  “Your marriage to Bruce -- did Captain Blonsky find out?”

Blinking, Betty shook her head.  “No, never,” she said.  “I wanted to tell him so many times, just to get him to stop courting me, but I feared my father would try to send Bruce away again.  That’s why he ended up in India for so long.”

“Thank you, Betty,” Phil said.  “I think that’s everything I needed to know.”  He glanced at Clint.  “We should go inform Detective Inspector Sitwell.  I think I’ve just solved our case.”

~*~

 


	11. The Answers Revealed

_Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, September 17th, 1934_

By the time Phil had explained his conclusions, it was early afternoon.  The sunlight filtering in through the windows was deceptively pleasant considering what was coming.  It wasn’t going to be easy.  Not only was Jasper set on arresting both Triad members, but a potentially unstable murderer.  Thankfully, Bobbi had created a series of small darts to help.  The tranquiliser would counteract the serum just enough to be effective.  Or so Bobbi hoped.  She’d given them to Clint, who’d smirked.  He’d promised that as long as Phil could distract the killer, Clint could handle the tranquilising.

At Jarvis’ suggestion, Phil has asked for the remaining guests to gather in the sunroom.  It was next to the library, and a little smaller, but distinctly less morbid.  “I have half a dozen constables standing by,” Jasper said, coming up to stand beside Phil at the window.  “And Agent Morse has called in several agents to deal with the Ten Rings thug at the local hotel.  We should be prepared for everything.”

Phil smiled.  It never stopped amazing Phil how willing Jasper was to go along with Phil solving his cases.  He was a good friend and a good man.  “Thank you, Jasper.”

Jasper shot him a sidelong look.  “Don’t get all grateful on me,” he said.  “You know how I hate that.”

“My apologies,” Phil said dryly.

After a knock at the door, the constable on guard duty let Clint and Bobbi slip inside.  Clint sent Phil a bemused look at the extra precautions, both his eyebrows raised.  Phil shrugged.  Jasper worried sometimes.

“Are we ready?” Clint asked, sauntering over to where Phil was standing.

Bobbi nodded, looking amused, no doubt at the idea of gathering the suspects together to explain it all.  Phil admitted it was a little dramatic, but it also usually tied up all loose ends quite nicely.  “I presume you’re taking the lead?” Bobbi said to Phil, a wry expression entering her eyes.  “Especially considering half the suspects think I’m only a secretary?”

Phil nodded.  “I thought it easier if you remained seated amongst the guests until needed,” he agreed.  “Although, if you could somehow sit near Savin and Brandt in case they react… violently, I would appreciate it.”

A smirk curved Bobbi’s red lips.  In deference to the potential for danger, Bobbi wore black trousers and a flattering crimson blouse.  “Undercover backup I can do,” she said.

Jasper glanced at Phil.  “I suppose you’ll want me to stand along the back wall again and look intimidating?” he said.

“If you would be so kind,” Phil replied, a smile rigging at the corner of his mouth.

“Which leaves you and I standing in front of all the suspects, Detective,” Clint said.  Amusement lurked in his gaze.  “As we tell a murderer how he committed his crime?”

Phil arched an eyebrow.  “Unless you have somewhere better to be, Barton?” he said mildly.

Clint’s grin was wolfish.  “Not at all,” he replied.

~*~

Clint settled back to wait for the arrival of the remaining guests.  The room Phil had commandeered didn’t have a desk for him to sprawl behind, so Clint was leaning casually against the wall.  Phil stood a few steps away, the very picture of calm.  Bobbi was sitting gracefully on one of the sofas, casually sipping a cup of tea.  She appeared for all the world as if butterflies had not taken up residence in her stomach as they had in Clint’s.

“Are you nervous?” Phil asked him quietly, eyeing him with some amusement.

Clint’s fingers strayed almost unconsciously to where he’d hidden one of his many knives.  “No,” he denied.  “I just have a healthy reserve when going up against the Triad.”

Phil smiled.  “We’ll be fine,” he said.  “And if not, I’m sure Bobbi will graciously swoop in and save us.”

Despite himself, Clint chuckled.  He had no doubt Bobbi would do just that if needed.  “That’s not what I’m worried about,” he said.

Phil raised both eyebrows, but amusement was still lurking in his gaze.  “Would it help if I promised that you could swoop in and save me too?”

Clint rolled his eyes, but decided not to comment.  Phil’s fond teasing had helped allay his nerves.  He doubted it would be quite the professional image Phil wanted to convey if the guests walked in on them bickering.

A minute later, the first of the guests arrived.  Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes escorted Kate into the sunroom, shared smiles on their faces.  Rhodes wore an impeccable suit as usual, this one a light grey that set off his dark skin.  Kate was wearing a pale purple blouse, tempered by dark trousers.  Betty trailed in just behind them, book in her hands.  She wore a dark green dress, her dark hair pinned back from face a little messy around the edges.  Clint wondered if that was a sign of a romantic interlude, or Betty putting her scientific knowledge into practice.

“Detective,” Rhodes greeted after he led Kate to the second sofa.  He glanced at Clint.  “Or should I say detectives?”

“Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes,” Phil greeted in reply, not giving an answer one way or another.  “Miss Ross, Miss Bishop.”

“Detective Coulson,” Kate replied dryly, while Betty just offered a warm smile.

General Ross and Captain Blonsky were the next to arrive.  Clint made a point of studying them both well.  General Ross stood tall and imposing, no sign of illness or infirmity bowing his shoulders.  Captain Blonsky had no sign of sickness either, but his face was pinched.  He frowned darkly at the room as he took a seat beside the General in one of the armchairs.

Pepper was the next to enter, gliding in gracefully.  Her black and cream dress was both flattering and eye-catching.  Naturally, Stark was no more than two steps behind her.  He was complaining loudly about being dragged from the lab, with Dr Banner trailing after them.  Banner’s tie was missing and Stark had what appeared to be grease staining his shirt underneath his jacket.  “I still don’t understand why this couldn’t have been put off for an hour.  Three at the most,” Stark said.  “Bruce and I were in the middle of a breakthrough.”

“No, Tony,” Pepper said levelly.

“Oh, but we wouldn’t want to disrupt the genius that is Tony Stark, now would we?” Eric Savin said disdainfully from behind them.  He sauntered through the door with a sneer, eyeing Stark dismissively.

Thankfully, Jarvis and Happy Hogan appeared a few moments later.  Their arrival cut off any further commentary from Savin.  As did their subtle guidance of Ellen Brandt into the room with them, at Phil discreet instruction.  At Phil’s nod, Jarvis shut the door behind them.

“Thank you all for joining us,” Phil said politely to the group as everyone settled on chairs or the two sofas.

“Did we have much of a choice?” Savin drawled in reply.  He’d taken a seat across the room from Brandt, but Clint could see the tension in Savin’s spine.

Phil stared at him mildly.  “If you’ll excuse my bluntness, Mr Savin, there is a murderer loose in this house.  I would think you’d want to help catch them,” he said.

His words were met with grim silence.  Clint watched as both Pepper and Bruce’s faces paled at the truth being stated so directly.  Beside them, Stark pressed his lips tightly together.  Even Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes appeared uncomfortable.  “Unfortunately, Aldrich Killian’s murder is not the only crime that has occurred,” Phil continued.

“Oh, really?” Savin drawled sardonically, even as both Captain Blonsky and Dr Banner straightened in their chairs.

“Yes,” Clint said.  “Really.”  He fixed Savin with a sharp glare, still leaning deceptively casually against the wall.  “If it wasn’t so nasty, I’d almost be impressed.”

Without even glancing at Clint, Phil cleared his throat.  It wasn’t irritation.  Phil never minded Clint’s interruptions, not when they cut off men like Savin.  Mostly, it was just Phil’s calm confidence that had everyone -- including Clint -- enraptured.  “Indeed,” Phil said.

Stark lifted his chin, his dark eyes intent and gleaming with his intelligence.  “So what exactly is going on, Detective?” he asked.  “I’m sure we’d all like to know.”

“The answer to that is quite complicated,” Phil replied.  “And the explanation should probably start at the beginning.”  His gaze cut to Stark’s, who gave Phil a small nod in return.  Phil turned his gaze back to the rest of the room.  “As most of you are aware, my associate, Mr Barton, and I were invited to Hardwick Hall.  Mr Stark was concerned at the recent disappearance of one of his colleagues and wished to engage our services.”

“What has this got to do with a murder?” General Ross interrupted gruffly.

“A lot more than you’d imagine,” Clint muttered.  The General shot him an irritated glare in reply.

“Mr Stark’s colleague is safe.  But before her disappearance a formula she was working on was stolen from her laboratory,” Phil said.

Clint watched as Savin tensed, his jaw clenching.  “I still don’t understand what this has to do with anything,” he said.

Phil arched his eyebrow.  “Yes, you do, Mr Savin,” he said.  “You are very much aware of Aldrich Killian’s involvement with the theft of that formula.  Just as you are aware of Aldrich Killian’s secret identity.”

If Savin had been tense before, he was now so rigid he looked like he might snap.  Ellen Brandt was no better, her fists clenched and her eyes straying to the door as if she wanted to escape.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Savin blustered, his eyes narrowed.

Clint surreptitiously slipped his hand towards a knife, just in case.

“What are you talking about, Coulson?” Stark demanded, but the pinched look on his face spoke less of irritation and more of fear.

Phil took a deep breath, and over the other side of the room, Detective Inspector Sitwell braced himself.  Even Bobbi shifted slightly as she set aside her tea cup.  “Aldrich Killian was the Mandarin, head of the Ten Rings Triad,” Phil said levelly.  His sharp gaze never strayed from his suspects.

Gasps met Phil’s declaration, and Stark went white.  Pepper reached over to squeeze his hand, her own eyes wide.  “The Mandarin?” she echoed.

Phil nodded once.  “Yes,” Phil replied simply.  “Unfortunately, he was not the only Triad member staying here, either.”  All eyes flicked to Savin.

Savin leapt to his feet.  “That is preposterous,” he snapped.  “I will have my lawyers…”

“Oh, you’re going to need lawyers,” Clint said, stepping forward.

“As for your denial, Mr Savin,” Bobbi said, rising to her feet.  “I wouldn’t waste your breath.  I have quite the file on you, and it’s enough to prove you are a member of the Ten Rings.”  She paused, her eyes sliding to Brandt, who suddenly looked akin to a trapped rat.  “Just as I have proof as to the real identity of your accomplice, Miss Ellen Brandt.”

“Who?” Stark said, and beside him both Pepper and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes appeared equally confused.

“The woman masquerading as your housekeeper, Mrs Davis,” Phil said softly.

Her eyes widening, Brandt surged to her feet.  Sitwell opened the door, allowing the three constables waisting outside to enter.  “Ellen Brandt and Eric Savin, you are both under arrest,” Sitwell said grimly.

Trapped as they were, neither Brandt or Savin had anywhere to go.  The constables rounded them up with little trouble.  They snapped handcuffs on both Savin and Brandt, but not before Brandt lunged towards Savin.  It took two of the constables to hold her back as she snarled.  “I told you you’d bring suspicion on us, you idiot!” she growled at Savin.

Yet, it was Savin everyone should have been watching.  Clint caught movement out of the corner of his eye and reacted almost without thinking.  Surging forwards, he closed the distance between himself and Phil.  The impact was hard enough to make Phil grunt.  Together, they fell to the floor in a pile of limbs.  The knife Savin had thrown at Phil embedded harmlessly in the wall behind them.  Gasping, he glanced down at Phil, Phil’s warm, solid body beneath his.

“Thank you, Clint,” Phil said a little breathlessly.  He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the way that Clint loved.  “You saved my life yet again.”

“Yeah, well,” Clint said, before he cleared his throat.  “I have a vested interest in keeping you alive, remember?”

“Of course,” Phil agreed.

Mentally shaking himself, Clint shifted off Phil and climbed back to his feet.  He stretched a hand down to help Phil up too.  As he did, his eyes flicked to Bobbi.  She was now crouched over Savin’s prone form, one knee in the small of his back as she slapped a pair of handcuffs on him.  Looking up, Bobbi winked and Clint couldn’t help but return the gesture.  God, that woman was fantastic.

Sitwell was standing not too far away, gun in hand, but when he saw everything was under control, he holstered it again.  “Constables, please take these criminals away,” he ordered briskly, nodding at Phil.

Bobbi moved to let the constables pull Savin to his feet, carefully brushing down her clothes as she stood.  “If you don’t mind, Detectives, that’s my cue to bid you goodbye,” she said with a faint smirk.  “I’ll make sure both Savin and Brandt reach London without incident.”  Her smile was sharp as she gazed out over the room.  She dipped her head.  “Gentlemen, and ladies.”

Clint grinned, bowing slightly.  “Until next time, Agent Morse,” he said.

“Well,” Stark drawled into the following silence.  “What excitement do you have for us next, Detective?”

~*~

Phil adjusted his suit jacket and looked out over the room.  Savin’s violent response had shaken him, and his heart was beating a little fast.  He wasn’t the only one, either.  In the commotion, Rhodes had moved closer to Pepper, putting himself between her and Savin.  Stark had stepped forward too, his dark eyes fierce.  Dr Banner was now to sitting on the sofa beside Betty, gripping her hand tightly.  Even Miss Bishop had moved, pressing herself into her chair.  Her left hand was hidden, and Phil had no doubt it was curled around some sort of weapon.  However, when Phil glanced at the General and his aide, he blinked.  Blonsky’s  eyes were wide, but the General didn’t look surprised by the events at all.  Instead, he was glaring at Phil, a muscle in his jaw ticking and his hands clenched into fists.  Phil would have sworn it was a trick of the light, but for a second, it even looked as if the General’s skin flushed bright red.

“So, are you telling me that Killian’s murder was all about Triad politics?” Stark said, bringing Phil’s attention back to him.  Stark’s voice was barely a rasp, and his eyes were wide.  “And that it happened in _my house_?”

Phil met Stark’s gaze without flinching.  Taking a deep breath, he tried to relax the tension in his shoulders.  “I am afraid neither Mr Savin nor Miss Brandt are guilty of Killian’s murder, Mr Stark.  Or the ‘accidents that have been plaguing you.”

Stark’s eyes narrowed.  “I thought you said the murderer and the person trying to kill me weren’t actually the same?”

“They’re not,” Phil agreed.  “But everyone in this room had the opportunity to stage at least one of the ‘accidents’.”

“Wait a minute!” Stark protested.  “You can’t tell me that everyone wants to kill me!”

Phil smiled wryly.  “Aside from those around you experiencing momentary impulses, no.  Everyone does not want to kill you.”  The smile slid from his face, because this was going to be the difficult part.  “But then, you were never intended to be the target at all, Mr Stark.”

Pepper frowned, regaining some of her composure.  “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

Offering her a small smile, Phil took a deep breath.  “While Mr Stark was unlucky enough to have suffered several accidents lately, the accidents weren’t meant for him.  He was a victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”  His lips twisted downwards.  “And our would-be killer wasn’t too concerned if people other than his victim got caught in his traps.”

“Are you sure someone is trying to kill Stark at all?” Captain Blonsky snapped irritably.

Phil noted that Blonsky was suddenly unable to look him in the face.  “No, Captain,” he replied mildly.  “But I am sure that someone has been trying to kill Dr Banner.”

Betty gasped, her hand tightening on Dr Banner’s, and even Banner looked pale and surprised.  “Me?” he said.  “Why would anyone want to kill me?”

“Well, that is the question, isn’t it?” Clint said from where he now stood beside Phil, seemingly not happy with being more than a few steps away.  After Savin’s earlier actions, Phil couldn’t blame him.

“But why would so many of those accidents have happened to Tony instead?” Rhodes asked, frowning.

Phil opened his mouth to answer, but Banner actually beat him to it.  “Because I was supposed to be there,” Banner said quietly.  “I was walking beside Tony on the street when he was almost hit by that motorcar.  And then Tony offered take me up to Hardwick Hall when he drove, except I made other plans at the last minute.”  He looked up and swallowed.  “The stairs… when Tony fell, those stairs were right outside my bedroom.  If he hadn’t come to talk to me… I would have fallen instead.”

“Yes,” Phil told him.  “I’m afraid so.”

Banner let out a shuddering breath.  “But why?  Who would want to do that?”

“Surely you don’t suspect anyone here!” Stark said, his voice loud and sharp compared to Banner’s.  “Pepper adores him, and he and Rhodey play too much chess for him to want to hurt Bruce!”

“And yourself?” Phil asked, arching an eyebrow.

Stark scowled.  “If you would think, for a _second_ , that I could kill him, I think I’m going to fire you right now,” he snapped.

“I don’t, Mr Stark,” Phil assured him.  “But that does only leave three other choices.”  His gaze flicked between Betty, General Ross and Captain Blonsky.

“Now wait a minute,” General Ross protested.  “You can’t think…”

Phil cut him off before he could say anymore.  “I can, General,” he said.  “Particularly since you and Dr Banner have a history, do you not?”

General Ross clenched his jaw so hard Phil could almost hear his teeth grinding.  “That was a long time ago,” he gritted out.

“Yet, you do not like Dr Banner, isn’t that true?” Phil pressed.  “In fact, you met when Dr Banner was a researcher on a project funded by the Army, where you were the man in charge, is that not also correct?  A project that was shut down after a catastrophic accident.  An accident you blamed Dr Banner for.  So much so, that you were responsible for making sure Dr Banner was chased out of England.”

A jolt of icy fear slid through Phil’s stomach at the amount of rage suddenly burning in General Ross’ eyes.  Beneath Ross’ hands, the arms of the  chair he was clenching cracked and splintered.  Clint tensed beside him, clearly bracing himself for another attack.  Then, Ross took a deep breath and some of the rage faded.  “That doesn’t mean I tried to kill Banner,” he growled.

“No, it doesn’t,” Phil agreed.  “But perhaps the same cannot be said for you aide, Captain Blonsky?”

Blonsky scowled, but his eyes were tight and kept flicking towards the door.  “Why don’t you ask Miss Ross?” he snarled.  “She’s the one holding hands with him.”

“What?” Ross shouted, his skin flushing red again.  On the sofa, Betty looked pale, although Phil wasn’t sure if that was due to her father’s anger of his own accusations.

“She was with you when you oversaw the project Dr Banner was working on, was she not?” Phil said.

“I was,” Betty answered, shooting a wide-eyed look at General Ross.  She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.  “But you already know that hurting Bruce is the last thing I would want to do.”  She turned to her father.  “Father, I… I wanted to tell you so many times, but…  I’m not a little girl anymore.  You can’t keep hiding me away from the world because you’re scared of losing me.”

Banner squeezed her hand when she trailed off, and then it was his turn to turn a level stare on the General.  “I love your daughter, General,” he said.  “I think I have since the moment I met her.  And I know that you don’t like me, but I promise you I will always do everything in my power to keep her safe.”

“No!” Ross yelled, surging to his feet.  “I will not allow it.  Betty, you are never to see that… _man_ again!”

Betty tilted her chin up and stood, as regal as any queen.  “I am over twenty-one, Father.  That is no longer your choice to make,” she said.  “I married Bruce two months ago, after he returned from India.”

“Married?” Ross snapped, his eyes narrowing as they moved to Banner.

“Why don’t you sit down, General?” Jasper said coolly, stepping up beside Ross.  Jasper’s fingers were twitching for his gun, as if he too, was worried Ross might turn to violence like Savin had.

Ross blinked, deflating.  “Married?” he echoed again, this time in a far milder voice.

Betty nodded, finding Banner’s hand again.  He stepped close, not to shield her, but to offer his calm support.  “Yes,” Betty said quietly.  “Because I love him.”

Sagging back into his chair, Ross turned away from his daughter.  Betty closed her eyes and let Banner lead her back to the sofa.  Phil’s heart broke for her.  He’d hoped Ross might have had a kind word to say, but given Ross’ dislike of Dr Banner, it had been a small hope at best.

“Just so I get this straight,” Stark broke in, both his eyebrows raised.  “Bruce, light of my life, you got married _without me_?”

Banner offered him a somewhat wan smile.  “Sorry, Tony,” he said.

Stark waved a hand.  “No, no, it’s fine.  Angry fathers and secret romances.  I understand,” he said.  “As soon as we get back to London, I’m throwing you a party!  Pepper, make a note.  Bruce and his new wife need an excellent party to celebrate their nuptials.”

Pepper nodded, her eyes bright.  “Of course.”

Phil smiled, but all the same, he kept an eye on Captain Blonsky.  As expected, he was not looking nearly so happy at the news.  There was no trace of surprise in his expression, however, just malice and cruelty.

“So if we can rule out Betty as a suspect, who else is left?” Rhodes asked.

“Well, there’s only one man in his room for whom Betty’s marriage would provide motive to kill,” Phil said.  “The same man who was witnessed leaving the house on the night of the murder and not returning until dawn.  Isn’t that right, Captain Blonsky?”

Blonsky paled, but his response was rigidly icy.  “Will you be accusing me of murder next, Detective?” he said.

“No,” Phil replied.  “Although there is no doubt that you had the perfect opportunity.”  He considered Blonsky a moment.  “Because if you weren’t committing murder, then why _were_ you outside that night, Captain?”

Blonsky swallowed.  “That’s none of your business,” he replied stiffly.

“Actually, it is,” Phil countered.  “With Dr Banner still alive, you can’t marry the woman you’ve become so obsessed with.  Which is why, if we searched your room, we’d find lethal wild mushrooms.  The same mushrooms you were going to use to poison the soup you’d been so careful to ask Jarvis to prepare.  A soup that Dr Banner, as a vegetarian, would eat.”

Blonsky clenched his jaw, but Phil could see the sweat at his temples and the way he kept swallowing nervously.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“I doubt your plan had truly formed the first time you tried to kill Dr Banner,” Phil continued blandly.  “It was mere chance that you saw him with Stark on the street in London.  Yet, you still took the chance to try running him down in the motorcar you were driving.  You just didn’t count on Dr Banner managing to get out of the way.”

Banner’s eyes were wide and shocked as he stared at Blonsky, but he stayed quiet.  Betty shifted closer, trying to give what comfort she could.

“From there, however, the idea grew in your mind.  As long as everyone considered Dr Banner’s death an accident, you’d be safe.  Then you could marry Betty without her father knowing of her marriage to Dr Banner.”  Phil eyed Blonsky, trying to keep his own anger hidden.  “Which is why you cut the breaks on Stark’s motorcar.  You knew General Ross was already planning to follow Stark to Hardwick Hall.  It wasn’t hard to find out when Stark was leaving.  Or that he was taking Dr Banner with him.”

“Except Banner changed his plans at the last minute,” Clint said, taking over the explanation.  “So you decided to wait and lay another trap.  You laid a thin string across the top of the stairs near Banner’s bedroom, hoping to make him fall down the stairs and break his neck.”  He smirked.  “Only you hadn’t counted on two detectives mucking up your plans, had you?”

“This is blatantly ridiculous,” Blonsky snarled.

“No, it’s not,” Betty said, her voice cutting across Blonsky’s denials.  “You’ve been trying to court me for months.  And no matter how many times I told you I didn’t want to be your wife, you wouldn’t listen.”

Blonsky surged to his feet, rocking the chair he’d been sitting in.  Only, before he could get very far, both Jasper and Rhodes was blocking his path.  “Captain Emil Blonsky,” Jasper said as Blonsky sagged in defeat.  “You are under arrest.”

As Jasper led the suddenly silent Blonsky from the room, General Ross turned to Phil with a sneer.  “Is there anyone else you’ll be arresting today, Detective?” he said.

“Just one more,” Phil told him, but truthfully, he was beginning to tire of the dramatics.

“Killian’s murderer,” Rhodes said grimly.  He eyed Phil carefully.  “I suppose you’ll tell us that we all had motive and opportunity to do it?”

Phil nodded.  “You do,” he said.  “Killian was not a man who had made many friends.”  He glanced to Stark.  “For instance, Mr Stark, you were heard arguing with Mr Killian over scientific research.”

“I might have,” Stark interrupted, “but I’m hardly the type to kill for science.”  The glare he shot General Ross suggested he didn’t think Ross shared his reservations.

Phil nodded, flicking his gaze to Pepper.  “No, you’re not,” he agreed.  “But science is not the only motive for murder.  Killian was attempting to court Miss Potts, which gives you another reason to want Killian dead.  Just like Miss Potts herself, and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes might have.  After all, Killian would not take no for an answer.”  He paused.  “And none of you have alibis for the night of the murder.”

“No I guess we don’t,” Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes said, shifting in his chair.  “Not unless you take us at our word.”

General Ross snorted.  “And you’re not going to do that, are you?” he said.  “Trust a man like _him_ at his word?”

An icy anger gripped Phil at the casual sneer in Ross’ voice.  As if Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes should be judged on anything other than his actions.  “If you mean a man of courage, who protects those he cares about, then _yes_ ,” Phil snapped, some of his anger coming through.  “I do trust Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes’ word.”

General Ross sent Phil a look like he’d been forced to suck on a particularly bitter lemon.  Anger still lurked in his gaze, burning bright.  Phil met Ross’ eyes steadily.  “Besides, General, I know _exactly_ who killed Aldrich Killian.”

The General’s reaction was as immediate as it was unexpected.  Ross staggered to his feet, and rather that just uncurling to his full height, Ross seemed to _grow_.  Muscles bulged outwards, splitting the seams of his clothes.  Even Ross’ skin darkened, flushing to a deep red.  For all their planning, actually _seeing_ a man transform in front of him chilled Phil to the bone.  He stared up at the General, who now towered over him by more than a head, and swallowed.  Not for the first time that afternoon, Phil wished for a gun.  Since he still did not have one, Phil drew himself up and stared down the creature General Ross had become.  “This will not change anything, General,” he said levelly.

Around him, the sunroom had erupted into chaos.  As soon as Ross had begun to change, Jasper had drawn his gun, shouting for the constables.  Phil was only vaguely aware of how Dr Banner had moved in front of Betty to protect her, his eyes glinting strangely green.  Rhodes had done the same for Pepper and Stark, although Stark appeared to be casting his eyes around the room for a weapon.  Even Miss Bishop had bounded from her chair and was now brandishing a large knife.  However, it was Clint’s steady presence at Phil’s back of which Phil was most keenly aware.  Clint grounded him, and gave him courage.  He only needed to distract General Ross for a few more seconds.  Hopefully.

The reddish creature turned his head to Phil.  “This is your last warning,” Phil said calmly.  “Please stop, General.”

Unfortunately, it did not appear that Ross would heed Phil’s words.  Ross never got a chance to wreak more havoc, however, as Clint shot him with one of Bobbi’s carefully made darts a second later.  Ross blinked, swaying slightly, and then began to shrink down again.  About thirty seconds after that, Ross sagged to the carpet, unconscious.

“Well,” Jasper said, glaring down at Ross.  “I’m not sure how I’m going to explain _this_ to my superiors.”  His gaze flicked to Clint.  “Although, I might have to borrow those darts.  They’re rather handy.”

Clint grinned like he hadn’t just taken down a half-transformed man.  “Sure,” he said.

By that point, Stark had regained his voice.  “What the hell?” he yelled, waving his arms.  “What the _hell_?”

Rhodes nodded.  “What Tony said,” he agreed, fixing Phil with a hard stare.

Phil, suddenly exhausted, moved to sit down on one of the empty sofas as Jasper and two constables carried Ross from the room.  He nodded when Jasper paused in the doorway to glance at him.  He could handle the explanations.  “It’s rather complicated, Mr Stark, so you’ll have to bear with me,” he said tiredly.

Clint took a seat beside him, sprawling out with his usual cat-like grace, and subtly pressed his shoulder to Phil’s.  “What do you want to know first?” he said.

“Well, what was that… the General…” Pepper trailed off.  “How was that possible?”

“That,” Phil said, “was due to a combination of Dr Hansen’s stolen serum and the influence of gamma radiation.”

“Gamma radiation?” Banner snapped, turning away from Betty, his dark gaze intent.

Phil nodded.  “I do not pretend to understand the science.  However, Agent Morse tells me that it was likely Killian couldn’t get the serum to work the way Dr Hansen had intended.  So he mixed in other research he could get his hands on.  Namely, some of your old research on gamma radiation, Dr Banner.”

Banner closed his eyes, looking ill.  “So it’s my fault,” he muttered.

“No,” Betty told him firmly.  “You weren’t responsible for what the Ten Rings did, Bruce.  Just as you did not force my father to drink that serum and turn into that… thing.”  She swallowed, her blue eyes large in her pale face when she turned to Phil.  “I just don’t understand why my father would do this?”

Phil held her gaze, wishing he could give her another answer.  “I think your father was sicker than even you knew, Betty,” he said softly.  “The serum was supposed to give someone increased rates of healing.  I think your father was just desperate enough to take it to stop himself dying.”

“Dying?” Banner said, glancing between Betty and Phil.

“General Ross had cancer,” Phil explained.  “No doubt a result of his time at the gamma radiation he was exposed to while overseeing your project, Dr Banner.  Others involved have already died.”

Banner glanced away, looking devastated.  “Lord have mercy,” he whispered.

Stark cursed loudly.  “And so Ross stole the serum to save himself?”

Phil nodded.  “I’m afraid it seems so, yes.”

Betty let out a breath.  “Did my father murder Killian because Killian found out?” she asked.

“No,” Phil said.  “I don’t think your father intended to kill anyone at all.”  Phil remembered that horrible, consuming rage in Ross’ eyes as he’d transformed.  “I think the serum just… removed his control.  When Killian surprised him, I think he just reacted.  It doesn’t excuse what he did, but it wasn’t planned.”

Betty swallowed and nodded.  “Thank you, Detective,” she said, her eyes bright with tears.  “I can’t say I would have wanted my father to be arrested, but I am glad you and Mr Barton stopped him before he could hurt anyone else.”

Phil nodded back.  He couldn’t imagine what it was like to find out you father was capable of murder, but he had no doubt Betty would survive it with grace.  Particularly with Banner by her side, because it was obvious he loved her very much.

“Well,” Stark said finally.  “This has been a hell of a day.”

“Tony,” Pepper admonished, but everyone could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

Jarvis stepped forward and cleared his throat.  “If I may be so bold to suggest champagne to celebrate Dr Banner and Mrs Banner’s marriage?” he said.  “Perhaps on the back terrace, followed by a small luncheon?”

Stark grinned.  “Jarvis, that is an excellent suggestion,” he announced.  “Champagne and a reason to celebrate is just what everyone needs.”

Slowly, the remaining guests got up to leave, Stark in the lead.  Banner lingered long enough to nod and smile at Phil and Clint, before he left with his hand still curled around Betty’s.  When he and Clint were finally alone, Phil took a deep breath and allowed himself to sag in his seat.  Clint shifted, pressing more solidly against him, and Phil leaned into the comfort with a smile.

“Do you think Betty will be okay?” Clint asked him.

“Yes,” Phil replied.  “I think Betty will be just fine.”

Clint hummed.  “You know,” he said.  “I vote for our next case we find something nice and simple where no one tries to murder you.”

Phil smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Clint’s lips.  “I can do you one better,” he said.  “What would you say to a holiday, just the two of us?”

Clint eyes lit up.  “Just the two of us?” he echoed.

Phil hummed in agreement.  “I was thinking somewhere warm, with soft sheets, a nice view and good food,” he said.

Grinning, Clint leaned in again.  “Had somewhere in mind, did you, Detective?”

“I might have somewhere in mind, yes,” Phil agreed.  “What do you say?”

Clint rested his forehead against Phil’s, closing his eyes.  “When do we leave?” he asked.

Warmth spread through Phil’s chest at the joy of having Clint in his life to love and to cherish.  He swallowed heavily, and for once, gave voice to the emotions flooding him.  “Anytime you wish, my love,” he whispered.

Clint chuckled and leaned in for another kiss.  “How about tomorrow?” he asked when he pulled back, just enough to look Phil in the eye.

Phil considered it, carefully plotting out their travel arrangements.  “How about the day after we return to London?” he countered.  “I think I can manage that.”

“That, Detective,” Clint said, “sounds like a promise.”

Phil smiled.

 

Fin


End file.
